


Faeted, Part One

by megzseattle



Series: Faeted [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fae & Fairies, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human!Aziraphale, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Seelie Court, Slow Burn, Teacher Aziraphale (Good Omens), Unseelie Court, fae!crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 62,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22931098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle
Summary: Ezra fell is an English professor at a prestigious academy for boys. Crowley is the lord of the Unseelie court in the lands without sunrise or moonfall. Somehow fate will bring them together.Cover art byGoodOmensFicRecommendationson tumblr!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Faeted [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648102
Comments: 663
Kudos: 575
Collections: Aziraphale/Crowley Non Human AUs, Good Omens Fantasy & Fairy Tales, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically





	1. A Bowl Of Ink And Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Well here's something new and different -- I've been considering trying my hand at a Good Omens AU for quite a while now, and I've been obsessed with legends of the fae for as long as I can remember -- so I've decided to combine the two in a new series. I've never written an AU before, so please pardon my missteps! I hope you will enjoy! This is going to be a long and angsty ride in four parts, with a few chapters each.
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> .  
> .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra learns how to scrye and sees something he didn't expect.

Ezra Fell laid down his chalk and turned to face the twelve teenage boys in his care. Twelve bodies ensconced in navy blazers jittered in barely concealed anticipation; twelve pairs of eyes jumped between him and the clock on the wall, ticking loudly as the last minutes of Friday lecture faded away.

There was no competing with the weekend, even at a school as prestigious as St. Aloysius Academy. 

“Yes, yes, all right,” he sighed. “I expect you all to read the next section of the Faerie Queen for Monday, and to complete your permission slips for next week’s field trip.” 

The bell clanged and the room was suddenly awash with the screeching sounds of chairs being pushed back and students exploding into motion.

“Class dismissed,” he called futilely, over the chaos. 

Ezra sighed and wiped the chalk dust from his hands as he returned to his desk and began to straighten up his papers. There was a knock at the door and he smiled to see Miss Device, his friend and the resident art teacher, standing in the doorway. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a braid and there were tiny bits of paint speckled on her glasses and her cheek. She still wore the smock she’d placed over her dress to protect it from her students’ creative endeavors. 

“Survived another week, did you?” she asked with a grin. 

“Indeed I did, my dear,” Ezra replied. “And you? Still employed I assume?” 

“So it seems,” she said. “So that’s a score of two for us, zero for the urchins. We just might get through this term yet. Supper at the pub at seven?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it.” 

Anathema sketched a little wave and disappeared around the corner towards her own room. 

\--

Ezra gathered his things into his leather satchel and made his way outside. It was a beautiful fall day, and the air was crisp and bracing. He stretched in the angled sunlight for a moment and then headed off towards his home. 

He passed through the school gates and enjoyed the walk for another twelve minutes before he found himself arriving at his own doorstep – a small, tidy, whitewashed cottage, just the right size for one. Many of the instructors at the academy lived on campus with the students, but Ezra valued his privacy and his quiet reading time too much for that; he’d felt lucky to find and purchase his own modest little home so close to the school when he’d been hired on five years ago. 

He stopped to collect his post and examine the flowers in his front window box, and then let himself in with a contented sigh and immediately set about putting a kettle on to boil. Time for tea. 

The clock over the mantel showed that he had a little over two hours before he needed to meet Anathema. With a happy wriggle, he carried his tea over to his favorite arm chair in front of the fire, sat down, and picked up the copy of The Mabinogion he’d been reading. It took him just a moment to find his place, and then the world disappeared as he was lost in tales of pre-Arthurian Britain. 

\--

Anathema was waiting for him when he parked his bicycle outside the pub later that evening. She waved to him from their usual table in the front window and he noted she had two pints ready for them. 

“So, what were you reading that made you late this time?” Anathema asked.

“Oh, doing some background research on old Celtic and British legends,” Ezra answered. “Faeries and mounds and elfshot and fairy stroke and what have you. Fascinating stuff! I’m taking the boys out to visit a few sites on Monday afternoon and want to give them context.”

Anathema nodded. “Faeries,” she said solemnly, “are not generally the nice little creatures that people like to imagine. They are dangerous and unpredictable and not to be taken lightly.”

Ezra examined her closely. “In literature, you mean,” he said pointedly. 

“Whatever makes you happy,” she said with an ambiguous smile. 

“I know you believe in magic, of course, but are you telling me you believe in the fair folk too?” 

Anathema shrugged and took a long drink from her pint. It left a bit of foam on her lip that she licked off before answering. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” 

Ezra tutted at her fussily. “Now, now, using Shakespeare to win an argument with an English professor is completely unfair.” 

“Who ever said I play fair?” 

“Indeed,” Ezra said with a fond smile. “I keep forgetting that.”

They turned their attention to food, then to sharing the latest gossip from their respective departments as the munched on their fish and chips. 

“What is your coven up to tonight, then?” Ezra asked pleasantly. 

“Oh, you know. Preparing for the larger gathering next week. Scrying.” 

“What are you scrying for?”

She shrugged. “It varies from person to person. Glimpses of the future. The face of your one true love. The essay question that will appear on next week’s exam.”

He laughed. “And you find that this works?” 

“Well maybe not for essay questions,” she said with a wink. “Although if the will is strong, anything is possible.” 

She stopped and looked at him more closely. 

“Oh now, don’t start, my dear,” he protested, knowing what was coming. 

“You should come join us,” she said. It was an old refrain and quite possibly the hundredth time she’d brought this up. 

“My dear, covens are for women,” Ezra said primly. 

“No, they aren’t,” she said. “We are an equal opportunity coven. And you’d fit right in.” 

“Perhaps some other time,” he said, signaling for another round of pints.

“Really, Ezra. We’ve got a few men who work with us regularly. And with your powers of concentration and imagination, you’d be a natural.” She peered at him. “What’s the harm in giving it a chance?” 

Ezra had to think about that one. Born into a conservative and very rich family, he’d long since abandoned his family’s religious beliefs and instead devoted himself to a life of the mind and the senses. He considered himself an open minded man, and didn’t mind at all that his closest friend considered herself a practicing witch. But to try it himself? 

Anathema leaned forward and prepared to break out the big guns. “Really Ezra,” she said. “Where’s your academic curiosity?”

She sat back and tried not to grin while she watched that comment land. 

He huffed in mock disgust. “You,” he said, shaking a finger, “are a menace. You are an American menace, come to Great Britain to corrupt the souls of our young.”

She continued to grin smugly at him, one eyebrow coolly raised. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he said. “I’m not coming to your coven. But perhaps you can show me something about how scrying works, after dinner. I do admit to some curiosity about the process.” 

Anathema made a fist pumping gesture, which Ezra primly ignored. 

\--

“Do you have some ink?” Anathema asked as they entered the cottage. 

Ezra gave her a stern look and gestured around him at the overflow of books, papers, notebooks, and pens lying on every possible surface. “What do you think?” he asked. “Of course I have ink!”

“Grab it,” she said, “and a pitcher of fresh water, and a silver spoon if you have one, and meet me in the back garden.”

“No niceties? No sitting down for a biscuit first?” he teased.

“I’ve got a coven to get to in an hour,” she said, pushing her glasses back up on her nose. “If you want a little tutorial, we’ve got to do it now.” 

Ezra set about gathering the items she’d asked for, placing them carefully on a wooden tray, and then stopped and added a few biscuits on a plate too, just in case someone got peckish. 

When he emerged in the backyard, he found Anathema had upended the brackish water and leaves out of his old, stone birdbath and wiped it as clean as she could with just her hands, and then had pushed and pulled it out of its usual corner beneath the plum tree into a spot where it was open to the sky above. 

“It’s actually a beautiful night for scrying,” she said. “Nice bright moon, no wind…”

“Oh lovely,” Ezra said, a tad sarcastically. 

She punched him lightly in the arm. “You asked for a lesson in scrying. Don’t be a bastard.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, smoothing his face into a more agreeable expression. “What do we do?”

“First pour the water into the bowl,” she said, indicating the birdbath. “And then add a few drops of ink to make it darken. Then stir it with the silver spoon, three times clockwise.”” 

He did so. 

“Now,” she said firmly, “it’s mostly about your intention at this point.”

“My intention?”

“What do you want to see?” she asked. “You don’t have to tell me, but think of a question in your mind, as clearly as you can, and focus on it while you take deep breaths and calm yourself.”

Ezra sat back and thought. What did he want to know? He thought about asking it to show him his family and what they were doing, but he wasn’t really interested in that, to be honest. His parents were undoubtedly at some fancy fund raiser, as that was how they spent most of their weekends, and his older brother was undoubtedly preparing for tomorrow’s sermon at his swanky parish. None of them were thinking about him and seeing them would just point out how hopelessly different their lives were from his. 

Did he want to know about the possibility of love or romance? To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure. He’d never had a strong feeling that love and romance were for him. He hadn’t ever really met anyone who evinced a strong interest in him, other than the occasional school crush on an older boy or two. These interests were passing and short, and he’d found himself mostly content with his life alone. He had his books, and his students, and a few good friends. It wasn’t out of the question that cupid could encounter him someday, but it hadn’t happened yet.

“I don’t know what to ask for,” he finally admitted.

Anathema studied him quietly. “Why don’t you ask it to show you what you most need to see?” 

He straightened up and smiled. “Why, my dear, that’s a perfect solution. Nice and open, difficult to misinterpret. I do like to be precise.” He closed his eyes and took a series of long, slow breaths. He concentrated on that statement, repeating it over and over. _Show me what I most need to see. Show me what I most need to see. Show me what I most need to see._

After a few minutes, he felt calm and centered, and he opened his eyes to look at Anathema, who was watching him closely. 

“Lean forward,” she said, “and look into the water. Keep breathing and try to relax, and just wait.” 

“That’s it?” he asked doubtfully.

“That’s all it takes,” she said. 

He placed a hand on either side of the cold stone basin and leaned forward to stare at the reflection of the moon in the dark, inky water. Nothing happened for several minutes. There was only his face, watery and distorted, and the reflection of the moon, wobbling a little as gentle ripples made their way out from the center of the pool. He realized he was holding the edges of the basin with a death grip and tried to loosen his hands a little, letting the tension flow out of him. 

He took a deep steadying breath and leaned in a little further, still repeating the words in his head, and suddenly the image in the water shifted, into a pair of golden, snake-like eyes that blinked at him in surprise and then darkened in alarm. He had a brief impression of hair like flames and a sense of agitation as the eyes leaned closer towards the surface and then — disappeared. 

Ezra leapt back as if the bird bath had bitten him. 

“What did you see?” Anathema asked, taking in his breathless surprise. 

“I — I’m not sure!” he stammered. “Eyes. Reptilian eyes. Possibly a snake? I think it saw me, too.”

“That’s impossible,” the witch said. “Scrying is one direction only; no one can see back across the connection.”

“That’s the only part that concerns you?” Ezra exclaimed. “My heart’s desire is apparently a large reptile and you’re just concerned about the laws of magic?”

Anathema started to make a smart comment and then noted his pallor and how rapidly he was breathing. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get a finger or two of scotch into you.” She took him by the elbow and led him into the house. 

The encounter left Ezra off balance and out of sorts for the rest of the evening. He saw Anathema off after more tea and a bit of whiskey, then set about trying to settle down and focus on lesson planning, but found himself distracted by thoughts of those golden, reptilian eyes widening in surprise and alarm. Who on earth was that supposed to be? His soulmate? He might not know a lot about the larger world outside of the academy, but he was fairly certain that nobody human had eyes like that.


	2. Into The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra takes his students into the woods for some hands on learning.

Monday morning came soon enough, and Ezra spent the morning preparing for the outing he was taking his afternoon literature class on. He’d reserved one of the school’s vans and was driving the twelve boys out for a ramble in the local hills to visit several key points mentioned in some of the recent readings. This term’s subject had been early British and Celtic mythology, and they’d covered everything from the Irish Ulster cycle with the great warrier king Cuchulain, to legends of the little people who supposedly predated the human occupation of the British Isles, to the great early versions of Arthurian legend. It was just the thing, he’d found, to stir the interest of early adolescents in literature, with their focus on heroic feats, dramatic battles, and of course, magic. 

The twelve boys from his class piled into the van in a raucous explosion of noises and smells, and kept up lively conversations (consistently largely of insults, as far as Ezra could tell) as they visited an ancient cathedral built on the site of an old holy well from pre-Roman times. They stopped to examine a battle site that was supposed to have been involved in Arthurian legend, which the boys found quite a bit more fun than the church had been. He let them beat each other with stick swords while shouting out bits they remembered from Le Morte D’Arthur for a good half hour, and then he gathered them back into the van and made their way to an old conical hill that had a reputation as once having been the home of the little people, the fae themselves. 

“This it, boys, last stop!” Ezra called as they pulled off onto the side of the road. “Bring your snacks and your notebooks – we’ll be walking for a little while to get to the site!” 

Twelve gangly boys tumbled out of the van behind him, and he quickly arranged them into scouting format. 

“You, Adam, take the compass,” Ezra said, “and Brian, you’ll carry the blanket. Wensleydale, you’ll be rear guard. Everyone ready? Off we go.”

After a few minutes of concerted hiking through light forest, they emerged into an open field covered in grass, with a large, round, flat-topped hill before them. An ancient, picturesque tree was its lone companion – a hawthorn, perhaps? There was a peaceful stillness to the site, broken only by birdsong. 

Ezra gathered the boys and explained that this was a site worthy of respect, likely a burial site at a minimum, and that no one was to dig or pick up rocks or otherwise take or change anything at all about it. He met each of their eyes in turn to emphasize this closely. And with a few more dire warnings, he set them loose to explore while he laid out a blanket nearby and set out of a few of their provisions for their missing tea time. 

A half hour later, Adam Young flopped down on the blanket beside him. Ezra smiled. Adam was one of his favorite students, mischievous but highly intelligent, always asking an unexpected question or surprising him with an unusual turn of phrase in a paper. 

“Do you really think the fairies lived here, Professor Fell?” he asked. 

“I don’t, really,” Ezra said, “although it’s lovely to think about. I think most of these hills are the remains of old ring forts, or perhaps burial mounds.”

“Why did they build these stories up around them, then?”

Ezra thought for a minute. “The fairy legends, as I interpret them, are representative of a loss of innocence as the world moved from nomadic into more settled lifestyles, with the coming of farming and larger settlements,” he said. “I think civilizations codify their losses into stories, and stories hold that grief for them for the things they can no longer remember.” 

Adam looked thoughtfully at the landscape around them, then grinned. “Would be wicked cool, though, if it were real, wouldn’t it?”

Ezra smiled. “I suppose it would,” he said, just as an enormous clap of thunder pealed overhead. 

A moment later, a torrential rain began to fall. The boys near him pulled their blazers up over their heads and ran squealing into cover under the nearby trees at the edge of the clearing, and Ezra quickly made his way up to the top of the hill to make sure everyone was off of it. He paused in shock for a moment to watch an enormous bolt of lightning strike much too close by for comfort, then quickly spiraled counterclockwise down the sides of the tor until he reached the bottom and headed off to follow the voices of the boys into the woods.

Oddly enough, he couldn’t seem to locate them, despite hearing their voices seemingly just up ahead. The air around him had gotten significantly darker with the coming cloud cover, and it was difficult to see under the thick branches. The rain and the odd quality of light gave everything a slightly greenish cast. 

“Boys!” he called, beating a little deeper into the woods. “Adam! Everyone, please stay together!” 

“Professor Fell!” he heard someone call from worryingly far off. “Where are you?”

A branch hit him in the face as he turned towards where he thought the sound came from. “Here!” he called. “I’m here! Please stop where you are and stick together.” 

He heard no further sounds, but continued to move forward towards the last direction he had heard the boys from. Rain dripped down off the leaves of the trees and ran unpleasantly down his neck. He stopped to pull his tweed coat a little closer around himself, then took a few more steps before realizing he had no real sense of the direction in which he was traveling. 

He turned in a slow circle and looked around him, but he saw absolutely nothing but trees. Strange, he thought. I don’t remember the woods being quite this deep here. 

A branch cracked behind him and he whirled to find himself eye to eye with a large horse. 

A horse. With a rider. 

A rider who happened to be a beautiful woman with long, flowing brown hair, dressed in a green gown with golden accents. Her horse was decorated with flowers and bells and appeared unusually tall and glossy. She looked like nothing so much as the living embodiment of Spencer’s faerie queen. 

“Greetings, fellow traveler,” she said in melodious tones. 

Ah, Ezra thought, of course. It’s a prank. The boys have decided to prank me with an actual, genuine fairy encounter of my very own. How very droll of them. He suspected Anathema had had a hand in this as well. The boys wouldn’t have achieved this level of detail on their own. He took a peek around to see if he was being filmed on one of the boys’ infernal phones, but he couldn’t see anyone. He decided to play along, just in case.

“Why hello, fair lady,” he said with exquisite politeness, offering her a smile. “I seem to be lost. Have you seen my students?”

She studied him for a moment. “I have not,” she said gravely, “but I can offer you assistance if you’d like.” 

He had to give her credit, she was taking her role very seriously. “Did Anathema put you up to this?” he asked sotto voce. “I must say, you look wonderful. The detailing on your gown is exquisite! Where did you source your materials?”

The woman looked perplexed. “What nonsense you speak,” she said. “Do you require assistance? The woods can be treacherous in such a storm and you appear to be far from home.” 

“I’d be most appreciative,” he said, “if you could help guide me back to the clearing.”

“Very well,” she said, leaning over and offering a hand, clearly indicating that she expected him to climb up on the horse beside her. 

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” he replied, taken aback. “Horses and I – well we don’t really get along. I’ll just walk beside you, if that’s all right.” 

She laughed in surprise, and gently guided her horse around to face to the west, then offered Ezra the reins to hold. They set off at a gentle pace, the horse leading the two of them through the woods for longer than seemed reasonable and Ezra walking at the side of the lady until they began to see more light between the branches. Finally they emerged into the clearing where he’d been before, at the base of the hill. 

He glanced around quickly but saw none of the boys he was hoping to find. Instead, he saw a half dozen people, similarly attired in old-fashioned outfits of green and gold, many with equally fine mounts. Four were men and two were women; all of them were so attractive it nearly hurt to look at them. 

Ezra revised his opinion for the moment – this was undoubtedly too elaborate for a prank. Perhaps what he had chanced upon instead were role playing enthusiasts out for a day in the woods? He knew some of Anathema’s friends partook in this peculiar hobby, often dressing up in costume and spending a day or two acting out some elaborate fantasy storyline out in the countryside. Never one to laugh at another’s hobby, Ezra was inclined to respect the thoroughness with which these particular people hewed to their chosen personas. They were tip to toe the exact image you would think of for the fae. 

“Lady Griane!” one of the menfolk cried. “We feared for you when you did not return immediately.”

His companion, a tall, broad-shouldered man with odd violet eyes, looked Ezra over thoroughly. “But we see now what detained you,” he said with a smirk. 

“I have found a lost traveler,” the woman said, dismounting gracefully. “He asked for our assistance.”

“Hello,” Ezra said politely. “You all look quite lovely in your costumes. What game are you playing today?” 

The purple eyed fellow eyed him in distaste. “My Queen, this one is clearly of inferior intellect. Perhaps you should return him to the bush you found him under.”

Griane made a shushing gesture with one hand, and the purple-eyed man fell silent. “I have taken him under my protection. Although I do admit he speaks an unusual amount of nonsense.” She laughed musically, and her companions echoed it.

One of the other women moved forward. She held a pouch in her hands, and smiled at Ezra with brilliant white teeth. She had dark skin and a smattering of what looked like a golden-ink tattoo across her left temple and onto her cheekbone. “I am Uriel,” she said. “Would you like refreshment?”

She reached into the pouch and pulled out a small cake and a flagon of what appeared to be wine. The scent of the pastry wafted through the air enticingly, making Ezra realize that he was quite extraordinarily hungry. 

The entire woods seemed to still, as if the trees themselves were watching him closely to see what he would do. 

Ezra looked from Uriel to his host, Griane; they both looked back at him with pleasant, expectant faces. He felt a brief tingle in the back of his mind, as if there was something he should be worried about, but he felt hot and thirsty and tired and could not, for the life of him, summon the energy to worry about what that might be. A group of role players was offering him what appeared to be a very nice snack. He _liked_ snacks. He _liked_ little cakes. He especially liked wine. 

What, he thought, could be the harm?

“Why thank you, Uriel,” he said politely, reaching out to take the offered cake. He brought it to his lips and took a small bite and was rewarded with an explosion of effervescent flavor upon his tongue that made him close his eyes and moan. When he heard quiet laughter, he opened his eyes again, feeling somewhat embarrassed, but Uriel moved to his side and met his gaze kindly. 

“Have a drink as well,” she said, offering him the flagon. “Being lost in the woods is thirsty work.” 

“Er, thank you, my dear,” he said, taking it from her and bringing it to his lips. 

The wine, he thought, almost burned with its goodness. It was the best wine he had ever tasted. It was light and golden and rich and playful all at once, tripping its way down his throat. As it reached his stomach, he was filled with an immense sense of peacefulness, making him feel as if nothing could ever be wrong again in his world. His arm which held the flagon dropped to his side of its own volition, and he felt someone removing the flagon from him without rousing himself enough to care. 

“Pardon me,” he mumbled, as his knees folded, “but it seems I simply must sit down for a moment.” 

“It’s no trouble, Ezra,” he heard Grian say, as gentle hands helped him to the ground. “Sleep now; you’ve chosen well.”

Ezra cracked one eye open and saw the faces leaning over him filtered through an odd greenish cast of light, almost as if it were suddenly twilight, and he struggled for just a moment before giving in to the deep pull of sleep. 

“Cake,” he heard the purple-eyed one say in a disgusted tone. “He didn’t even pause. Imagine if we’d offered him an entire feast.” 

Ezra slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:  
> \- Walking counterclockwise down a fairy hill is one of the supposed ways one can enter the world of faerie. Ezra, of course, does it by accident.
> 
> \- Grian is named for a somewhat obscure and supposed queen of the fairy, sister of Aine, who is more well known. 
> 
> \- I know Ezra is behaving ridiculously but he really and truly does NOT believe in magic at this point. He will soon learn otherwise. 
> 
> Thanks for your comments and encouragement on chapter one!


	3. Inside the Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ezra wakes up and can no longer hold on to his illusions.

The first thing that began to nudge Ezra back to a state of consciousness was the feeling of firelight dancing against his eyelids. This, somehow, didn’t seem right. He then became aware that he was laying on something soft and scented with herbs; he rolled a little, experimentally, and was rewarded with the delicious scent of what seemed like lavender and chamomile. It wasn’t until he heard a footfall near him and the clang of something glass that he bolted fully awake and sat up in alarm.

A perfectly ordinary middle-aged woman stood before him – ordinary, perhaps, except for her fashion sense, which verged on the absurd. She wore some kind of flowing kaftan in peacock blue with a bright pea-green border, with a red shirt peeking out from underneath, and her hair was a bright and unnatural shade of orange favored by certain middle-aged women with a flair for the dramatic. Her eyebrows appeared to be penciled on and her lips were painted on in a vampish red. She stared at him in a way that appeared to be kindly.

Ezra blinked and looked at her again, and he could’ve sworn, for just a moment, that her image flickered just a little around the edges and revealed something else beneath.

“Ah, good,” she said with a smile, “you’re awake!”

“Where am I?” Ezra sputtered. “What on earth –“

“Oh, but that’s the rub, isn’t it?” the woman said in a not unkind way. “You’re not on earth anymore, or at least not on _your_ earth. You’re with the Shining Ones now.”

Ezra threw off the covers and leapt to his feet. “What does that mean?” he said, looking around. “I demand to be taken back to my students at once.”

He appeared to be in a tent of some kind, made of oddly shimmering violet material and quite large. The tent was lit by a brazier with a leaping fire burning in it, but something about the flames looked off – they were the wrong color, more blue than orange. There was a camp-type bed with sumptuous fur coverings and a table on the far wall full of vials and jars.

“You came willingly, my friend, and of your own accord,” the woman said.

“I did no such thing!” he shouted. “Where are the boys I was with?”

“I don’t know a thing about your boys, I’m afraid.”

Ezra stared at her for a moment, then strode across the tent in a few quick strides and opened the flap. He found himself in an odd, twilight-lit clearing surrounded by a variety of fantastical tents that jutted out at impossible angles and soared up to improbably heights for things made from what appeared to be silk. The quality of the light around him was green and almost rippled, like a world viewed through water, like looking up at the surface of the ocean when you’re diving on a sunlit day.

What really stopped him in his tracks were the people. A variety of creatures were lingering nearby, some busily attending to various tasks, some lounging in exquisite idleness. He instantly and fully knew that he could no longer pretend that he was in the midst of a bunch of uni students practicing their role playing. The beings around him were of all shapes and sizes – some uncannily tall and slim, with pale white skin and long flowing hair that ranged from silver to lilac, some short and squat with skin that appeared to be made from something wet and viscuous, like clay that hadn’t dried yet. An uncountable number of smaller creatures flitted by, some on wings, some rustling about in the grass, too fast to clearly see. Some of them walked with an elegant gait and some of them lurched and rolled and otherwise lumbered on an uncounted number of limbs. He took a hesitant step forward and one of the beings who had just passed by turned its head a full 180 degrees behind himself to fix its oddly matte black gaze on him in a manner that seemed hungry. Ezra ceased breathing entirely and froze, until the creature sketched a feral grin at him with entirely too many teeth.

Something inside him broke at that, and he raced back into the tent and shut the flap again behind himself.

“Sit,” the woman said, guiding him to a small wooden stool. He sat. She placed a cup of what appeared to be tea in his hands. “Drink this.”

He started, suddenly realizing the danger he was in. “I can’t drink this!” he said. “I’ve read the stories! Drinking it means… means I’m –”

“My dear,” she said as kindly as she could, “that ship has long since sailed. Do you not remember that you already partook?”

Ezra paled and placed his head in his hands. “I – I didn’t – “ He swallowed. “I thought they were uni students! I was still in my world…”

“You weren’t,” she said. “Not since you spiraled widdershins down the tor. Even a child knows that.”

“But I didn’t know!” he exclaimed. “And I thought they were actors! It doesn’t count if I didn’t –”

He broke off and tried to focus on just breathing in and breathing out and ignoring the sick sensation in his stomach.

The woman crouched down next to him. “It does count, dearie, and you know it,” she said. “And now that you’re bound, there’s nothing for it but to take the sustenance you’re going to need to survive. Starving yourself to death won’t return you to earth any faster than anything else, and will make everything just that much worse for you while you’re here.”

He sighed and took a sip of the tea, which he had to admit tasted wonderful and seemed to have no immediate ill effects. He examined her more closely.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What shall I call you? Are you human?”

“I’ll not tell you my true name, duckie, and you should know better than to ask. You’re in faerie now and you need to be canny.” She hesitated for a moment. “You can call me Tracey. That’s an earth name, right? I’m what you need most right now, and that’s a friend. I’m a healer here. They brought you to me to get you through the initial transition.”

“And you’re a human?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t true but hoping perhaps it might be.

“That’s quite an insult to most of the folk here,” she said with a frown. “No, I’m not. I just chose this form to make you more comfortable-like. My true form can be hard to absorb, at first.”

“Oh,” Ezra said faintly. “Well, that was kind of you.”

“Very good,” she smiled. “You didn’t say thank you. Never thank a member of the faery clans. You’re a quick one, aren’t you?”

Well, thought Ezra, he did have rather extensive knowledge of the lore. He’d probably read as much of the early stories and legends as anyone alive. Not, he thought ruefully, that that knowledge had done him the least bit of good when it mattered.

“In any event,” she said, “the Queen will be calling for you soon.”

“The Queen?”

“You met her, I believe?” Tracey said. “Lady Griane?”

He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“There’s much you need to know if you’re going to survive. I suggest we get to work.”

\--

Crowley sprawled bonelessly on his immense and ornate stone throne and frowned at the courtiers in front of him. Various denizens of the Dark Court were gathered in the hall around him, some talking quietly in groups, some drinking or fighting or otherwise causing trouble. All of them seemed cognizant of the displeasure of their ruler. But, being Unseelie, displeasure was almost to be expected and in an odd way, reassuring. And so the court rolled on around him. He watched for a moment as a goblin-like creature in the far corner slowly and painfully pulled the appendages off of what appeared to be a fire salamander, then waved a hand to reform it and began the process again.

Boring, Crowley thought. It was all boring.

A small, grey creature who looked like a child but was anything but approached him warily to offer a flagon of wine. He reached out and took it with an insolent hand and waved the creature away impatiently. The gray not-child, happy to escape with all its limbs intact, skittered across the room and began licking its fur with a long, black tongue and muttering to itself quietly.

Crowley pulled the cork out with his teeth, spat it across the room and took a long, hard drag of the contents. He closed his eyes, head leaning back against the back of his throne, and let his mind drift back to the odd vision the other night.

He had been in his chambers, possibly the most warded and inviolable portion of the entire Dark Hall, performing a meditation to help him scan the edges of his realm when suddenly in front of him, a shining surface like a mirror opened – but instead of reflecting his own face back to him, it showed something inexplicable. A pale, soft creature wreathed in white-yellow fluff peering at him quite intently with ice blue eyes. A human? Could it even be?

The creature looked quite as startled as he was sure he did, for a moment, before he came to his senses and waved a banishing spell to close whatever portal that was. And then he reeled back in shock and thought hard.

Who was that and how had they managed to violate his security systems? Not even the queen could view him without permission; he’d paid quite dearly for that protection.

He went out to the hall and banished his guards, even though he knew it wasn’t their fault, and had a new pair sent up to take their place. And then he spent the rest of the night drinking and brooding.

\--

The Queen sent for Ezra the next morning. Two of her servants waited impatiently outside the tent while Madame Tracy fussed with his outfit and gave him some last minute advice.

“Remember,” she said, tying a lavender scarf around his neck. “Politeness above all. Be rude and the nicest thing that will happen to you is to be turned into a frog for all eternity.”

“I understand,” he said. “Manners. Comportment. Charm. My parents were sticklers on the same.”

She pulled off the lavender scarf and replaced it with one in robin’s egg blue. “Tell no lies, even small ones. Trust none of the lords. Don’t let anyone place you in debt to them. Try to keep a low profile.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“The tents move around constantly. As soon as you’ve turned the corner, this location will move and you’ll never find it again without enchantment.” She pressed a small stone into his hand. “This will get you back to me if you need to. Hold it in your hand and concentrate on my tent as you’re walking and it will lead you here.”

He tucked it away in an inside pocket. “I appreciate it, Madame Tracy. You’ve been very kind, and I’d be happy to repay you if the chance arises.”

“Ach,” she tsked. “That’s exactly the sort of thing you’re not supposed to say, you boggart. No off with you. And remember; don’t believe everything you see or hear. The Fae can’t lie, but that doesn’t mean they can’t wind the truth around you as tight as a ribbon and drown you in it.”

He gave her a tremulous smile and then straightened his shoulders before heading out of the tent.

\--

He was led through a bewildering set of narrow streets that he quickly lost count of. In some cases, he was almost sure he was going in circles on the same paths but with different scenery appearing and disappearing, until finally a large keep appeared in front of them. It was tall, silvery-blue, and shone with thousands of sharp sparkles in the dim green light – Ezra thought it looked a bit like a geode, somehow turned inside out, and arranged into crags and towers and gates.

His two companions, a pair of uncommunicative fellows who were short and stocky and appeared to have tails, led him through the gates and ultimately into the main hall, where they deposited him and then literally melted into the walls.

Ezra looked around him, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The hall was tall and soaring and made from a warm, cream-colored, gleaming stone, with arches and buttresses that appeared more like ribs than stone supporting a ceiling so high up as to be almost out of focus. Banners of gossamer silks floated down from the spaces between windows and festooned the front of two galleries of seats that lined the long walls. The overall effect of the bone-like buttresses and the waving silks was almost as if the building itself was breathing, expanding in and out rhythmically. It was enchanting and horrifying in equal measure.

An enormous fountain, oddly out of place indoors, tinkled merrily in the center of the room, and at the far end sat an enormous gilt chair that was obviously a throne, flanked on either side by two smaller chairs.

He took that all in easily enough, because it was easier to focus on the furnishings than on the room’s occupants.

People – was it right to call them people, he wondered? – were everywhere. Most of them were the rather tall, thin, painfully beautiful creatures he’d noted outside the tent, finely dressed in silks and velvets of all hues, their oddly-colored hair hanging at least to their waist for both men and women. Their skin tones varied from palest alabaster to a leafy green to the deepest, richest mahogany, and some of them appeared to have leaves or horns either embedded in their hair or growing from their heads. Many of them had jewels hanging from every surface to which they could conceivably be attached. A few turned their faces to observe him with eyes that were too large, too wide, and much too strange to be human.

There were other creatures in the room – plainer, squatter, oddly shaped, mostly wearing brown or green, some of them put together in strange ways and with eyes that varied from almost human to entirely foreign – but they seemed to give the beautiful ones a wide berth, and Ezra quickly surmised that these were the true rulers of the realm.

A burst of music like a crystal chime sounded and as one, all the creatures in attendance turned towards the throne and bowed deeply. Standing unnoticed in the back of the room, Ezra decided to err on the side of safety and did the same.

When he felt it safe to look up again, he saw what he’d expected – Griane was on the large throne, flanked on either side by the purple-eyed gentleman he’d met in the clearing, and by a woman he hadn’t seen before. It was hard to notice either of them, however, next to the radiance that was the queen.

A hand touched his shoulder and in spite of himself he flinched.

“Now, now, little man,” said the voice of the being he knew as Uriel. “It’s time to present you to the queen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (For those of you who are sticklers on details, yes I changed the spelling of Griane's name. I went back and edited it in the prior chapter too. It just looked wrong to me the way I had spelled it before.) 
> 
> Chapter four is killing me but is 75% done -- hopefully I will have it posted before Friday! Thank you so much for all of your comments so far! I love hearing from you!


	4. A Fragile New Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra attempts to get used to life at the Seelie Court, makes a new ally, and discovers that not everyone wishes him well.

Ezra felt as if every eye in the room was on him, and he had the distinct feeling that the majority of them were at best neutral, if not outright unfriendly. There was a titter of laughter here and there as Uriel led him forward to the front of the room. On the way they passed the fountain, and Ezra was temporarily distracted by the discovery that there were creatures swimming around in it. One of them reared up a dripping, seaweed-encrusted head to take a look at him as he went by. But soon enough, he was directly in front of the throne. Uriel cleared her throat meaningfully and indicated that he should bow, so he did.

“Greetings, stranger,” said the Queen, “What shall we call you?”

 _Don’t tell them your true name,_ Ezra recalled Tracey saying last night. Not a problem for him, as he’d been born with a much more elaborate, fussy name and only went by Ezra as a matter of preference.

“I am Ezra, your majesty,” he said.

A susurration of response rippled through the court, perhaps laughter at how easily he’d given up his name. Well, he thought, the joke’s on you. No one here was ever going to hear his birth name from his own lips. In fact, most of his human friends didn’t even know it.

The Queen stood up and approached him, and, looking at her face, Ezra felt a sudden burst of happiness and peace descend over him, as if he couldn’t possibly be gazing at a more lovely or well-meaning creature. She walked close to him and laid a cool hand on his cheek.

“Such a lovely specimen” she said, her voice like the tinkling of crystals. She stroked his cheek and then reached up to run a hand through his yellow-white curls. “You shall be my cupbearer, I believe. Does this suit you, Ezra?”

Ezra had the sudden urge to throw himself at her feet, just in case she wanted a carpet to walk upon. He shook his head gently as if to free it from cobwebs, and finally mustered a response.

“Yes, your majesty,” he said.

She laughed, delightedly, and returned to her throne. “Uriel, please get him properly attired and bring him the wine. We shall have a drink in honor of my new cupbearer, I believe.”

\--

Ezra felt his faculties returning to him as he was led away to be outfitted. His head cleared enough for him to realize he was being dressed in an outfit more suited to revolutionary France than modern life; there were frills and ruffles and a waist coat covered in shiny buttons and the most frivolous, ridiculous pair of shiny shoes. He felt like a child’s toy in it, but Uriel seemed pleased, and so did the queen when he returned. They placed a large golden ewer in his hands and stationed him behind and to the left of the Queen, where his sole function was to step forward and fill her cup or the cups of either of her two companions whenever requested.

This was apparently a high honor in the Faerie court, but it was stultifying work. It did, however, give him time to observe and learn. The purple-eyed man appeared to be Griane’s second-in-command and was referred to as Gabriel. He was beautiful, but his mouth was as often turned down in a sneer as up in pleasantry, and Ezra, remembering his earlier insults, decided he didn’t like him at all.

The woman on the other side, though, was harder to read. Her brown hair was swept up in an elaborate updo and covered in pearls, and she wore a simple white sheath that fell smoothly from her shoulders to the floor. After trying in vain for some time to hear her name, Ezra finally heard someone refer to her as Michael. She turned a cool golden gaze on him occasionally, but her face betrayed no emotions whatsoever. Of the two, Ezra thought, she was undoubtedly the more formidable.

The Queen and her two helpers attended to court business for the next hour or two, resolving incomprehensible disputes, accepting gifts and tributes, and receiving visitors from the outermost edges of their realm. There was much talk of a recent war; Ezra had difficulty following who or what was involved in the dispute, but his impression was that it had not gone well for the Seelie court, and that they’d lost some important comrades as prisoners. It was difficult to hear the details from his position behind the seats; whenever he was called forward to serve wine, the conversation usually stopped or became much softer.

When he wasn’t serving or watching, he tried to examine his predicament, in whatever quantities his mind could deal with without giving in to overwhelming panic. He was trapped in Faerie, sheerly through his own stupidity. He still couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he had to be asleep, perhaps knocked unconscious or in a coma and imagining all of this. And yet – there was a solidity to this world, a sense of reality, that he couldn’t quite deny. He was here. If he pinched himself, it hurt. If someone touched him, he felt it. How on Earth was he going to get himself out of this?

He scanned his prodigious memory for any hint of how one might get away from the Fey, but he came up with very little from his readings. For now he resolved to watch and wait.

“My brother is coming in a fortnight,” the Queen announced at one point, “to negotiate the release of hostages and the cessation of hostilities for the season.”

A ripple of horrified reaction ran through the courtiers, making Ezra realize he had missed something important. Everyone seemed to be repeating a word. It sounded something like “unseelie.” He had no idea what that could mean, but it seemed to strike fear into the heart of the gathering.

Who or what, he wondered, could make these formidable creatures that nervous?

“Excellent,” said the creature known as Michael. “Always good to see one’s enemies up close now and then. Keeps you on your toes.”

The Queen raised a glass and, of course, Ezra stepped forward to fill it. She rewarded him with barely a glance.

\--

The next week passed in a blur. The first few days weren’t so bad – he was well looked after, in a sense, in that he had food to eat and a comfortable place to sleep, and aside from his duties was left nearly constantly to his own devices. It was almost, he thought, as if he didn’t exist to the denizens of the Shining Court unless he was directly in front of him. He explored what he could of the keep, although he found it nearly impossible to navigate a structure that seemed to change around him as soon as he had turned a corner, and he made a few friends in the kitchen, including a few other lesser faerie who had been called to serve there.

He made a particular friend of a brownie named Pulsifer, whose job was making pastry creations unlike anything he had ever seen. Ezra won her friendship with his sincere admiration of her work, and soon was chatting with her any time he wasn’t otherwise occupied.

“Am I the only human here right now?” he asked Pulsifer as she put the finishing touches on an immense and intricate faun made of pastry dough and almonds.

The brownie wrinkled up her nose and thought about it, pushing one hand through her wispy brown hair that stuck out in every direction underneath her bakers cap, while the other held an elaborate wand she was using to make the sugar do her bidding.

“Ye ‘ave some company, I think, one or two,” she said, her voice almost a croak. “They’ve been ‘ere a long time, though. Most of ‘em are ‘ere to stay.”

He absorbed that idea while he watched her finish a large set of spun sugar antlers.

“My dear, that’s simply lovely,” he said admiringly.

The brownie gave him a gap-toothed smile and offered him a piece of leftover antler, which he ate with gusto.

Ezra thought carefully about how to put his next question. “Has – has anyone ever escaped from the court?” he asked.

Pulsifer put down her wand and looked at him. “Why would ye want to?” she asked in a loud voice. “Ye are in the Shining Court. Where else could ye want to be?”

Ezra blushed and looked around. “I do apologize, my dear –”

She made a shushing gesture and motioned him closer. He leaned in and she brought her mouth very close to his ear and spoke in a gravelly whisper. “Sometimes one ‘as escaped during the great hunt,” she said. “But it’s very ‘ard to do. And you’d do well to keep your voice down if you’re going to ask about it. The cupboard, they ‘ave ears. Literally.”

\--

In the second week of his captivity, Queen Griane was called away on some kind of business and left Ezra in the care of Gabriel.

Gabriel did not seem pleased about this development, but he knew better than to be ungracious in front of the Queen. Once she left, though, it was a different story all together.

“Come, Ezra,” he said crisply. “You won’t be attending to the court while the Lady is away. I’ve got other jobs more –” he looked him over with a not-very-subtle sneer, “ _suitable_ to one made from gross matter like yourself.”

Ezra tried to keep his face neutral while Gabriel was looking at him, but as soon as he turned to lead the way he let off a bit of steam by making a face at his back.

“I saw that!” Gabriel called back to him. “I see everything. Don’t forget that.”

Gabriel escorted him back to his chambers and put him to work at menial tasks – cleaning the floors, mending, and freshening the rushes strewn about the chamber. And when that was done, he took to dragging him from place to place with him, and found endless enjoyment in assigning him to the most ridiculous and demeaning tasks he could find. In a room full of Fae, Ezra would undoubtedly find himself down on his hands and knees, cleaning some imaginary spot with a rag until Gabriel deigned to let him rise, or he was relegated to stand in some kind of absurd pose while holding a lantern just so to shine light onto something Gabriel was admiring, and even, on occasion, to entertain. He recited some poetry he knew by heart, to the sincere appreciation of at least some members of the gathered court, but of course this wasn’t quite demeaning enough for his lord and master.

“Make yourself useful, human,” Gabriel said one afternoon, his tone haughty. “We’re bored. How about you dance for us?”

“My – my lord,” Ezra said carefully, “I offer you no falsehood when I say that I dance poorly. I fear you would be more horrified than entertained.”

Gabriel leaned forward with a strange light in his eyes and Ezra sucked in a breath as he realized his mistake. Of _course_ that would make Gabriel even more determined.

“Why, Ezra,” Gabriel said, smiling, “you know I can compel you to if I have to. You don’t want to make me do that, do you sunshine?”

They stared at each other for a tense moment, and then Gabriel clapped his hand and pipes began to play from a location Ezra could not see.

Against his will, Ezra attempted to dance, trying desperately to recall some part of a waltz or jig or gavotte from one of his college evenings, but mostly he bobbed rather helplessly to the music, looking, he was well aware, entirely foolish.

The gathered Sidhe laughed rather cruelly. “Oh no, Gabriel,” one of the ladies said, “this won’t do at all.” Her voice was like silk over steel, full of menace and beauty. “Perhaps you could teach the lad some steps?”

Gabriel smiled predatorially and took a deep sip of his wine, then snapped his fingers in a way that made the air coil around Ezra and brought his body to a stiff halt. He was held in place, arms at his sides, unable to move while he stared fearfully at the purple eyes of his tormenter.

Gabriel stood up and took a step towards him, examining him from all sides before reaching up to brazenly straighten Ezra’s collar. He gave the human a smarmy, overbright grin.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

 _No,_ thought Ezra, _please don’t._ He knew how this story ended, humans being forced to dance until they collapsed or died. Would he be able to fight this at all, and if not what would become of him?

Gabriel made a complicated gesture and snapped again, and suddenly Ezra’s feet began moving of their own accord. His arms stayed rigid at his side and his upper body stayed mostly motionless as he skipped and jumped and tripped along to the music of the pipes in movements he couldn’t predict or control.

The woman who had urged Gabriel on grinned, revealing a golden front tooth, and clapped her hands delightedly. “Oh my goodness,” she said, “look what you’ve done!” She stopped and frowned. “But Gabriel, he’s frowning,” she said.

“Why don’t you take a hand at fixing that, Lady Sandalphon?” Gabriel offered.

The Lady laughed in a tone that sent ice down Ezra’s spine, then leaned forward with a gesture of her own. “Smile!” she whispered to him, and to his horror, Ezra immediately did, a ghastly, broad smile stretching his cheeks as he continued to jump and prance and trip and twist in what he assumed was some kind of Celtic dancing. Whatever it was, it was painful, and his heart beat wildly in his chest as he felt perspiration rolling down his back and into his eyes. The tempo never slowed and he was unable to regain any control of his body. He could hardly catch his breath after a few minutes, and it didn’t matter at all – his pace continued, unchanged.

The lords of Sidhe soon tired of this amusement and drifted on to other things, but Ezra was left still struggling under the enchantment as one by one the Fae left the room. Gabriel was one of the last to go, not even thinking to release him from his torment as he walked out with an arm around the lady who’d cursed him with a smile even the Joker would have been shocked by.

They had almost left the room when Lady Sandalphon turned back to peer at him.

“Oh Gabriel,” she purred, “it wouldn’t do for us to break Lady Griane’s toy, would it? She’d be most cross.”

Gabriel sighed dramatically. “No, I suppose not.” He snapped again and the music ceased, and Ezra fell immediately to the floor, overcome with the cramping muscles of a body pushed past its limits.

The next time he looked up, he was alone. He groaningly eased his way to his hands and knees, and crawled over to the nearest pitcher of wine, before downing as much of it as he could. He then laid back down on the floor and fell almost immediately asleep.

He awoke later to find the hall awash in moonlight and the sky outside the windows and silks very dark. He appeared to be alone. He stretched each limb, testing them, and noted that he was no longer quite so painful, and was pleased to find he could make it to his feet. With one last look around, he made his way the shortest route he knew back to his rooms, and for once the keep cooperated, allowing him to find his way without any tricks.

He collapsed into bed and lay staring out the small, narrow window allotted to him until sleep took him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well chapter four got to be 5k words long so I split it into two parts. Part two is almost done and will be out this weekend! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! :) Thank you for reading!


	5. Parley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lord of the Unseelie Court appears and makes a surprising offer.

Lady Griane returned a few days later, and preparations immediately kicked into gear for the arrival of her brother and the negotiations she’d mentioned before leaving. Ezra didn’t see much of her for a day or two, but he was summoned to serve wine at a council after a few days had passed.

He tried to do his job unobtrusively, blending into the background as much as possible, and did his very best to give Gabriel an extremely wide berth as he did so. Unnoticed and with little to do, his mind drifted towards home, and he wondered despairingly how much time was passing there as compared to here. From what he remembered, visits to this world were unpredictable, with no direct correlation of day for day. It was possible that only a few seconds had passed since he left home, and it was equally likely that a few centuries might have gone by, and all the boys who had been charged to his care had long since grown old and died. The thought filled him with anguish.

“The cupbearer has something on his mind,” Michael announced placidly, startling Ezra enough that he spilled a drop of wine onto the table as he poured. He murmured his apologies and wiped it up with his sleeve.

“Is that so, human?” Lady Griane said, sounding amused.

Ezra took a moment to meet Michael’s eyes, perplexed. She revealed nothing, simply staring back at him without expression. Was she a mind reader? Could she see everything he was thinking? He certainly hoped not.

Not daring to be rude and knowing better than to offer an untruth, he turned his gaze to the Queen.

“If you would permit me…” he said, unsure of himself.

She smiled at him as one would at a harmless puppy who had learned a new trick. “You may speak.”

“I was simply wondering,” Ezra said, “when and how it might be possible for me to return home?”

Gabriel cut in before the Queen could even answer, his purple eyes furious. “You’ve been brought to the Shining Court, you ungrateful toad. You’re never going home! Why would you even want to?”

Ezra tried to maintain his composure. “Perhaps we could work something out?” he asked, still addressing the Queen. “It’s just that I’m responsible for a rather large number of the young of my world, and I’m afraid I left them wandering alone in the woods during a storm when you found me –”

Gabriel grabbed him by his ruffled lapels and lifted him straight off the ground as if weighed no more than a leaf, forcing Ezra’s eyes to focus on him. “Listen, sunshine. You’re with the lords of the Sidhe now, and you sealed your fate the moment you ate that cake in the clearing. You belong to us, now.” He shook him once for emphasis and dropped him to the floor.

Ezra painfully pulled himself up to standing and looked Gabriel in the eye. “Begging your pardon,” he said icily but with perfect politeness, “but I belong to myself and myself alone.”

Gabriel waved a hand and began muttering something and Ezra was struck with a wave of fear; clearly something bad was about to happen to him. He curled his hands into fists and prepared for the worst --

“Stop!” a calm clear voice rang out, and Gabriel instantly froze.

Everyone’s eyes turned to the Queen.

“Gabriel,” she said, her voice icy. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, may I remind you that Ezra, despite being a servant here, is our guest from the land of mortals?”

Gabriel looked at a complete loss for words. “Well – yes, my Lady, of course—”

“And as such,” she cut in, “he is subject to the customs of hospitality upon which our society is based? There are no exceptions to this rule. As our guest, he is subject to being treated courteously and well throughout his stay with us.”

Gabriel nodded. “Yes, my Lady, of course, but I can’t stand by while he disrespects --”

“I have heard about the dancing plague you put upon him while I was gone, and I am not pleased,” the Queen continued. “I command you, from this moment, to cease to toy with him or afflict him in any way. Now begone.”

Ezra risked a peek at Gabriel, who looked both abashed and, beneath that, rather murderous. This, he thought, could not be good. The Fae lord stammered for a moment, opening and closing his mouth a number of times, and then sketched a deep bow to his Queen and left the room with his shoulders held painfully straight.

 _He is going to find a way to see that I pay for that,_ Ezra thought. _I’m certain of it._

The Queen turned to Ezra. “Are you so unhappy with us that you wish to leave?”

Ezra considered his answer carefully. “It’s not that I’m unhappy, my lady,” he said, “as it is that I did not intend to leave my world when I did. I left much undone, and people for whom I care greatly unprepared for my absence.”

“You appeared to enter our lands of your own free will,” she said wonderingly. “You wound down the tor in the proper direction, as ritual suggests, and willingly accepted our offer of food and drink. You have the lore and the knowledge to know that this was binding, by the laws of old magic.”

Ezra grimaced. “I know it appeared this way, my Lady, but it was not at all my intent.”

Griane eyed him for a moment, her thoughts hidden. As always, Ezra found having the full attention of the Queen of the Shining Court on him a nearly overwhelming experience. He kept his breathing calm and tried to ignore the hypnotic pull of those eyes. He needed his mind to remain clear. It was difficult but he felt like he was beginning to be able to manage it, at least for short periods of time.

“I will think on it,” she said. “And I will send help to ensure that your students are returned to their home from where you left them.”

Oh, thank you, Ezra thought, sagging in relief. He just barely stopped himself from allowing the words to leave his lips, remembering at the last second the Fae’s aversion to being thanked directly.

“That is very kind of you, my Lady,” Ezra said instead.

She gave him a small smile and nodded in acknowledgment. And with that, she turned her attention away from him.

\--

The day for the negotiations arrived bright and clear.

In preparation, Griane secreted away most of the Seelie encampment and instead placed in the field where her hall had stood a single pavilion of gold silk, immensely beautiful, looking like it should somehow float away on the breeze and yet like it could withstand the fall of a mountain on it. She set a quartz table in the center with large golden chairs around it, and called on her three most trusted counsellors to assist her in receiving the emissaries from the Dark Court.

Ezra and a handful of other servants stood around the edges of the pavilion, most of them beglamoured within an inch of their lives, ready to serve if called but unable to see or hear. Ezra tried to fit in, hiding as best he could the fact that he was for some reason unenchanted and could follow what was happening around him. It must have been an oversight that he had been missed, he thought, and not one he wanted to point out.

The Queen stood and cocked her head to the side, listening.

“They are arrived,” she announced, indicating for her counsellors to rise.

It was as if a sudden pallor had fallen over the world of the Shining Court. Say what you will about the dim green light, but it had a warmth to it; the air was fresh and smelled heavenly, and a warm breeze always seemed to be blowing at the right moment with a tinkle of bells or music just faintly out of hearing range.

Now, though, the music stopped; the light darkened and instead of a warm breeze a chill crept over everyone present. The Queen and her counsellors turned towards the door and held themselves with dignity, and suddenly the silks parted in a dramatic swirl and the darkest, most disreputable creature Ezra had ever seen walked – no, not walked, he _sauntered_ in, flanked by a pair of flunkies who managed to look they were somehow _made_ of darkness.

The Unseelie prince was tall and angular and somehow moved as if he had more joints than he should. The only word to describe his walk was insouciant; he walked as if the entire world was watching and he couldn’t be bothered to care. He was sheathed in black clothing so dark that it barely reflected light – but once Ezra concentrated on it more closely, he could see that the man was wearing tight leather leggings with boots up to his knees, and a blousy silken shirt that tied at the neck, loosely. His hair was long and flowing in snake-like curls, and the most astonishing fire-red. He wore dark glasses, oddly out of place in this milieu, and looked completely comfortable in his own skin.

His companions were a small woman who was, Ezra thought, either composed entirely of flies or simply sheathed in them, and otherwise rather squat and nondescript, and a tall female demon with pointy teeth and slicked back dirty-blond hair.

Ezra couldn’t watch them for long though; his were drawn to the center figure as if by gravity.

The prince sauntered into the tent, came over to the Queen, and smiled mockingly at her.

“Hello, sis,” he drawled. “Still playing at peace and joy and contentment then?”

She gave him a tight smile back. “Lord Crowley,” she said, calmly. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Is it?” he asked, playing at surprise. “It almost sounds like you missed me.” He motioned at his companions. “You know Beez and Dagon, right? Beez, Dagon, this is – well everybody.”

Much of Fae life was built on intricate layers of courtesy and elaborate ceremonies of hospitality, Ezra was realizing. Therefore, he wasn’t at all surprised when the greetings devolved into a much more formal ritual of welcome, involving elaborate speeches, presentation of key partners, and ultimately the exchange of food and drink to establish peaceful intentions and preclude the possibility of treachery. This, he realized, was binding for the members of both courts; once they’d accepted hospitality they could not betray the others within the space they’d created for parley. He watched the proceedings unfold with great interest. Griane and her lords appeared fully invested in them, as did Lord Crowley’s two companions.

Lord Crowley, though, only appeared to be going through the motions. Mostly, he appeared bored and sardonic.

After the speeches, after the exchange of fruits and cakes, after pretty words were said and both parties agreed to terms, Ezra was called forward to pour wine for the seven of them at the table. He stepped forward carefully, having been instructed by Michael prior to the proceedings that he was to begin with Lord Crowley, then the Queen, and then serve the rest of the counselors in turn. He felt the eyes of everyone assembled on him as he performed his function to help seal the sanctity of negotiations, but he had the oddest sense that the Unseelie prince’s eyes were especially intent on him. He kept his eyes trained strictly on the table as he poured, noting as he did the prince’s hand tapping impatiently on the table next to his goblet; it was adorned with a large snake ring and his nails were black and glossy, sharpened to points. He then moved to the Queen, whose eyes he met and was granted an approving smile. When he finished serving everyone, he moved back to his customary position at the edge of the room and waited.

“Before we begin,” Lord Crowley said, “I’d like to seal the table from the hearing of your servants.”

Lady Griane looked surprised. “I can assure you my servants are trustworthy.”

“No offense, sis, but I don’t know them, and one of them appears to be mortal. I will seal them or we will not proceed.”

The Queen and Michael conferred briefly before she nodded her agreement, and Crowley got up from the table and wandered to the side of the room furthest away from Ezra. He visited each servant in turn, touching each of them on the forehead and murmuring a word or two, before moving on to the next. Ezra watched him with a strange sense of fascination and doom as he moved closer and closer to him.

Finally the prince stopped directly in front of him and Ezra found his eyes drawn to Crowley’s dark glasses in spite of his best intentions. A shiver ran up his spine at the intensity of the gaze, even without being able to see his eyes.

The prince leaned in close and his face was a puzzle of aggravation and curiosity. “You!” he hissed. “Don’t think that I haven’t recognized you.”

Ezra looked at him blankly. “I – I don’t know what –”

“Are you a spy?” Crowley murmured, glowering at him. “A trick? A trap? Never you mind, you will hear nothing of the proceedings today.”

The prince leaned in and touched his forehead with one insolent finger that felt like an electric shock, and then spoke a low phrase that Ezra couldn’t place, and it was as if a cone of silence had descended upon him. He could still see the proceedings, but he couldn’t hear a thing.

Lord Crowley ambled back to the table and threw himself into his chair, one leg breezily crossed over the other, and generously waved for the proceedings to begin.

\--

After several hours of mind-numbing boredom, the proceedings came to an end and the hold on the servants was released with a wave of the Prince’s hand. Ezra discreetly rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to release the tension of standing at attention for hours on end, and then interestedly looked up to see what was happening.

The Lords of Seelie and Unseelie stood up from the table and prepared to take a break before the evening’s fete began. Just at the last moment, though, Lord Crowley spoke. 

“One more thing,” Lord Crowley drawled, a sardonic smile on his face. “Just a trifle, really. I wish to purchase your cupbearer as surety to our agreement.”

Griane scoffed. “Nonsense.”

The Prince walked over to her and sat down on the table directly in front of the queen’s seat, affrontingly close, and leaned towards her. “You do want to make me happy, don’t you, dear sis?”

Griane waved a hand dismissively and he suddenly found himself several feet further down the table. “My cupbearer is not for sale,” she said. “He is mine. Choose something else.”

Crowley frowned, not used to being refused. “What possible value to you has one tiny human?” he asked.

Griane stared him down. “What possible value could he possibly have to _you_?” she said pointedly. “He’s amusing. He’s terribly stubborn and has the nicest manners, and he can recite more poetry than almost anyone besides the traveling bards.” She looked over at Ezra, who did his best to keep his face as neutral as all of the other servants. “And he is rather handsome, is he not?”

Gabriel leaned in. “I’m sure the Court will tire of him eventually, Lord Crowley,” he said with a syrupy smile. “Perhaps we will pass him to you when he ceases to be pleasing.”

Without even looking, Crowley turned and grabbed Gabriel by the throat, squeezing hard. “Did I ask for your input, Sidhe?” he snarled. “I was speaking to my sister. You do not address me.”

Gabriel looked imploringly at the Queen, who sighed and made a restraining gesture to Crowley, who snarled one more time for good measure and then released the man back down into a nearby chair.

“I will offer you three of my fairest maidens to serve in your court,” Griane said generously. “You may take your pick of the dryads and the water girls. Surely you could use one to adorn your waterfall, could you not?”

Crowley considered it. “I’m afraid Green Jenny would eat them alive; it’s her waterfall and she will tolerate no one else in it.” He picked up a crystal flagon and drained it showily.

“You may have six of our finest steeds,” Griane offered.

The Lord of the Unseelie Court frowned. “My dear sister, what on earth has come over you? All of this for a – what, a teacher of stories?”

Griane stared at him levelly.

“No,” he said with long suffering patience. “I’m afraid it’s your cupbearer or nothing. Send him with me and I will return your precious paramour and his captains and call off the troops from your border. We can have another peaceful cycle of seasons before next year’s May Eve.” He grinned at her. “Let’s call it a whim, shall we?”

Griane stood, tired of the proceedings. “Oh, very well,” she said. “There’s more where this one came from. We will send him to you tonight after the fete.”

\--

It was Michael who sent one of her maidservants to prepare him. She appeared young and pretty and rather frightened.

“What can you tell me about Lord Crowley?” Ezra asked the girl who was plaiting flowers into his hair.

“Oh, he has the most fearsome reputation,” she said, “even among the Lords. He leads the hunt, most seasons, and he’s said to rule over the Unseelie with a grip of steel. None dare cross him.”

“Except, of course, your Queen,” Ezra offered.

The girl met his eye and smiled. “Now and then, perchance.”

“Have you ever spoken with him?”

The girl shuddered. “Oh no. Not me. You don’t want to catch the eye of Lord Crowley, believe you me.”

“And why is that?”

“He’ll eat you alive,” she said. “Best to stay silent and unnoticed when he’s afoot.”

Wonderful, thought Ezra. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've all been waiting for Crowley to arrive, yes? :) Enjoy!


	6. A Dark and Stormy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ezra gets his first glimpse of Lord Crowley's world.

The Queen gave Ezra the night off, perhaps out of guilt, he thought, for essentially selling him off to her brother. Either way he was glad for the pause, and he used it at first to pack his rather meagre belongings – the notebook and pen he’d been carrying when he came here, a few changes of clothes he’d been provided, a compass, the rock Madame Tracy had given him. He put them all in the small valet case Michael’s servant had given him, and then sat waiting on the edge of the bed, one leg jostling nervously.

The rock, he realized suddenly. He had the rock.

Suddenly he wanted nothing so much as to see Madame Tracy again. She had been of tremendous help to him before, and he wondered if she could offer him any guidance about the other side of the Fae.

He opened the case and pulled out the rock. What had she said? To hold it in his hand and concentrate and it would help him find her.

Ezra stood up, wondering if he was being watched, and went to try the door. It was unlocked, which was a relief. He eased it open and peered out into the hall, and, finding it mostly deserted, stepped out furtively. He could hear music and laughter and dancing coming from the clearing around the pavilion, but very few beings seemed to be in the hidden keep right now. It was probably the ideal time to do a little sneaking around.

He closed his fist around the smooth, gray rock and closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on Madame Tracy and her tent. For a moment, he felt nothing, but then he had the strongest sensation of a clear, well-lit path before him. He headed down it, tentatively at first, and then with increased confidence as no one arose to challenge him, until it led him out of the castle and into the winding labyrinth of the camp at large. Even hidden as it was from the Unseelie court, he could see clearly where he needed to go, treading confidently through the maze until he arrived at the front of a now-familiar tent violet-colored tent.

“Er – hello?” he called, realizing there was no way to politely knock before entering when one was dealing with a tent instead of a building. “Madame Tracy?” 

The front flap of the tent opened, and Madame Tracy appeared, attired even more spectacularly than he remembered, this time in an orange and red geometric gown with what appeared to be a large fascinator in her hair.

“Ah, there you are, dearie,” she said, gesturing in. “I’ve been expecting you.”

\--

Madame Tracy put on a pot and made him a quite serviceable cup of tea, stoked the fire in her brazier, and offered him a seat on a very comfortable cushion near it. 

“So,” she said calmly. “I hear you’ve been gifted to the Unseelie Lord. I assume that’s what you’ve come about, then?”

“Yes!” Ezra exclaimed, all but wilting in relief. He’d known coming here was the right thing. “What can you tell me about him? What are the Unseelie?”

Madame Tracy sighed. “Ach, that’s a large question, love.” She leaned back and thought for a moment. “They’re our opposites, I suppose. The Dark to our Light. The Chaotic to our Order. Our counterparts, as it were. Balance in all things, as they say.”

“So, they’re evil and you’re good?”

Madame Tracy frowned. “No, that’s much too simple. And as I’m sure you can tell by now, calling the Shining Court good is a bit of an overstatement.” She thought again. “We are the same people, but with different philosophies. We are bound by the same essential rules and laws, but we carry them out differently. For one, the Seelie court is inclined to be somewhat helpful, or at least neutral, to humans. The Unseelie feel no such compunction and are more likely to seek your outright harm.”

Ezra sighed. “Well that sounds just lovely.”

“Now, now,” she said reprovingly. “Don’t give up hope. Lord Crowley is an interesting one, very unusual. You’ll be under his protection, if you play your cards right, and very few in the Dark Court would dare to counteract his wishes.”

He considered that. “How does one get on his good side?”

“I couldn’t say exactly. But my impression is that he’s restless, bored by this realm and its restrictions. You are new and amusing and stand every chance of capturing his interest for the moment.” Madame Tracy smiled at him enigmatically. “Your challenge will be to keep it.”

Ezra sipped his tea. “Can I trust him?”

She laughed. “If I knew the answer to that, I’d be the most powerful person in the realm.”

They worked their way through several cups of tea, sharing knowledge about the two courts and their complex relationship, their ongoing wars and tensions. By the end, Ezra felt like he had at least a rudimentary understanding of some of the politics involved.

Whatever concerns he had about this new development, he had to admit that it was quite a fortunate moment for him to move on from the Shining Court. He was quite certain that tensions between him and Gabriel were only going to escalate, and he was massively outmatched in that battle. If Gabriel meant him harm, he would undoubtedly find a way to bring it about, and there would be little Ezra could do to stop him – even relying on the Lady’s protection was only going to get him so far.

With this thought, he took a deep breath and resolved to try to hide his fear and see if he could find a way to turn this new situation to his advantage.

He was distracted from this new resolve by a loud kerfuffle outside the tent. Madame Tracy leapt up just as the flap opened to admit Lord Crowley’s fly-covered companion, who looked around with disgust. What had he called them? Ezra wracked his brain but could not remember.

“Lord Beelzebub!” Madam Tracy cried. “How did you get in here?”

Beelzebub turned a sneering gaze on the healer. “Your magiczz are no match for mine, woman. I followed the scent of the mortal, and the stench of the enchanted rock he carriezzz.”

Ezra stood and attempted to strike a nonthreatening pose. “What are you here for?”

Beelzebub turned to face him. “You, obviouzzly,” they said, tone disturbingly like that of an insect learning to make mortal speech. “Lord Crowley wazz not amuzed to find you missing when he came to collect you. Running away, are you? So soon?”

Ezra gasped. “Not at all,” he protested. “I had no idea when I was being collected, and I just came to pay a visit to Madame Tracy before I left.”

Beelzebub narrowed their eyes at him. “Very likely story, that,” they snapped. “Azz it izz, I’ve been sent to collect you, and it would behoove you come along before anything further occurzz to displeazze your new lord.”

Ezra turned to Madame Tracy, clasped her hand in his, and bowed formally. “I appreciate your hospitality, Madame Tracy,” he said formally, hoping he’d done her no harm in this visit. “Farewell.”

“Farewell, Ezra,” she said, composed as always. She looked unconcerned, and he hoped this was a good sign. Madame Tracy turned to Beelzebub and made a shooing gesture. “Begone, then, and take _all_ of your flies with you.”

Beelzebub held the flap door open and issued Ezra out, grabbing him tightly by the elbow as she made a gesture and shifted them both back to the back of the golden pavilion, where Lord Crowley was pacing. Ezra’s bag was at his feet, he noted. 

“Well,” snarled Lord Crowley. “The miscreant returns.”

Ezra met his darkened gaze and took an involuntary step back. Even with the glasses, he could tell that the Unseelie Prince looked angry.

“I suggest that you do not attempt to flee me again, mortal,” Crowley said. “Now gather your things and we will be going.”

\--

Lacking any better options, Ezra fell in line behind the Prince and his party as they walked out through the pavilion, to where the Queen and Michael, with Gabriel and Uriel just behind them, were waiting.

Lady Griane stepped forward and took both of Lord Crowley’s hands in hers. “Well met, brother,” she said, leaning forward to place a kiss on his forehead. Crowley grimaced but allowed it. “I am glad of your coming and wish you peace as you go.”

Crowley nodded and a strange look passed over his face. “It was good to see you as well,” he said. “I wish you peace in return.”

The crowd parted and before him Ezra saw a set of carriages, large and black and resembling nothing so much as jack-o-lanterns – they were vaguely round with odd designs carved into the side, and were lit from within with an orange, flickering light that made them appear quite alarming. The largest was drawn by four large steeds, jet black and glossy, who snorted and pawed and somehow exuded a sense of almost unimaginable power. He faltered for a moment, startled. He didn’t know much, but he knew he did not want to enter one of those macabre-looking coaches.

Beelzebub began to steer him to the smallest carriage when suddenly Lord Crowley grabbed them by the arm.

“No,” he ordered with quiet authority. “Put him in my carriage.”

Ezra knew without asking which one that was. The largest and most frightening-looking. Still, he knew better than to protest as he was bundled up the stairs and into the interior of the coach – which, surprisingly, was much more comfortable than he might have expected. He sat gingerly down on one of the black brocade seats, wondering if it might bite him, but encountered nothing of the sort. He leaned back into a corner, facing the door, and tried to prepare for whatever came next.

A few moments later, Crowley himself joined him, flopping down onto the opposite bench. He paid Ezra no mind, instead reaching out of the open window on the far side of the coach and raising a hand into position.

“Brace yourself,” he said, turning to Ezra with a feral grin, and then he rapped loudly three times on the outer shell of the carriage.

Although Ezra had observed no driver or carriage-men about, he nonetheless heard the answering howl of something from the front of the coach, and the snap of what sounded like reins, and suddenly the carriage lurched into the air with a terrifying snap of speed and headed off into the night.

\--

Lord Crowley was oddly silent, and despite his dark glasses, Ezra had the distinct impression that he had his eyes closed and was resting as the expedition continued their rocky ride through the air. He slowly eased his grip on the seat beside him and tried to return his breathing to normal as he realized that he was unlikely to be thrown to his death from the Prince’s own carriage.

The primary lesson of the last few weeks, he thought wonderingly, was that one could get used to nearly anything when one had no other choice.

“What is your name?” the Prince finally asked, his voice startling Ezra out of his reverie.

“I am called Ezra, my Lord.” He was so used to this minor misdirection by now that he hardly gave it a thought. 

Lord Crowley’s gaze intensified, and his eyebrows drew down into a frown. “Tricky,” he breathed. “I sense no outright dishonesty from you, and yet I can sense that you are spinning the truth to your advantage. And to such a simple question!” He leaned back and turned his gaze to the window. “Those idiots at the Shining Court have taught you more than perhaps they intended.”

“And what should I call you, my Lord?” Ezra asked. “I don’t wish to offend.”

The prince quirked one side of his mouth up. “Lord Crowley will suffice, for now. Or My Lord, if you wish.”

“Very well,” Ezra said, and they fell into silence again as Ezra craned forward to try to see out the windows. As the Fae realms had no moon to speak of, he was met with only blackness for his troubles. “Might I ask a question?”

Crowley made a go-ahead gesture and leaned back expansively on his bench.

“Why are we traveling like this?” he asked. “I assume you could snap your fingers and transport the whole expedition home.”

Crowley raised a cool eyebrow. “This is your only question?”

Ezra shrugged helplessly.

“Of course I could transport us instantly,” the prince said. “But one is expected to maintain a certain level of —” he gestured around mildly “—appearances when you are in my position. It’s much more intimidating to drive off in a fearsome cortege of fire steeds than to simply vanish.” 

Ezra cracked a grin despite himself, then thought better of it and wiped his face clean to neutral. “Indeed,” he said, trying to compose himself.

 _Keep your guard up_ , he told himself firmly. _This creature is not your friend; he is simply your new jailer. Don’t let yourself be won over by his wit or candor._

The rest of the ride passed quietly, with Ezra slipping uncomfortably between the sensation that the creature across from him was sleeping and the sense that he was being closely examined. He held himself with as much quiet dignity as he could muster and let his mind drift for the moment, revisiting in memory various texts he had read for any hints about the Unseelie court. None of them were especially helpful but he nonetheless relished the distraction.

He was jolted out of his recollections by the sensation of the carriage landing with a jolt on hard ground and coming to a stop.

“We’ve arrived,” Lord Crowley said. “Stay close to me. Your life might actually depend on it.”

Ezra swallowed, then jumped as the door to their coach swung open and a hand reached in to help the Prince down. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and followed his frightening companion down the steps.

\--

Lord Crowley watched closely as Ezra emerged from the coach, intensely curious to see how this strange mortal would react to his first sight of the Dark Court. Would he blanch in terror? Would he be curious? He didn’t know or understand the creature across from him, but he knew one thing – his reactions, to date, were generally different than what the prince expected. This, in itself, was refreshing. It had been so, so _long_ since anyone had managed to surprise him.

He watched as Ezra emerged, his ridiculously fluff-like white-blond hair sticking out in all directions above the dark gray travel cloak he’d donned over his garments. He actually smiled (if faintly) at the horrifying gremlin who helped him down the steps, then brushed the nonexistent dust off himself fussily while he took in his surroundings.

Crowley was gratified to see his eyes widen in shock.

They were standing in the center of an immense cavern, almost as if a mountain had been hollowed out inside by an immense blast. The rock walls climbed up above them and came together at an almost unmeasurable distance overhead and were dotted everywhere one looked with cavernous openings, some of which flickered ominously with the light from a fire further inside. Creatures here and there, too murky to make out fully, hovered near the openings of some of them, peering down at the return of their prince with eyes that glowed with strange and unfamiliar emotions.

Further ahead, the floor cracked into a massive chasm which ranged across the rest of the cavern and was crossed here and there by rickety-looking bridges. It was lit from below by the light of flames and the scent of sulfur. Stalagmites rose from the floor at irregular intervals, some of them paired with stalactites dropping from the ceiling like large, rocky icicles. Their surfaces glittered here and there with what looked like mica or gems.

Crowley watched as Ezra sucked in a breath as he took this in, then exhaled it all in one go.

“Thoughts?” said Lord Crowley, sidling up to him.

Ezra turned astonished eyes to him. “It’s beautiful! I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Crowley examined him closely, looking for mockery or insincerity but finding only earnestness on the human’s face. He truly, honestly appeared to find the cavern amazing. The prince felt something akin to pleasure at this, for a moment at least, until he ruthlessly slammed that feeling down inside himself and returned to his usual sardonic detachment.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he said, striding forward and motioning for Ezra to keep up with him.

They headed towards the central bridge across the widest part of the chasm, and strode across it to turn a corner, where they were met with another stunning vista. Crowley felt Ezra stutter to a halt behind him as he stopped.

“This is the Dark Hall,” Lord Crowley said, waving an arm at the dark edifice in front of him. It appeared to have been thrust up out of the rock floor itself, its walls jagged diagonals of granite ending in points like spears, broken here and there by thin arrow slits of windows and reaching up into rugged parapets. A narrow, gleaming walkway of polished stone led up to a massive gate that was carved into the shape of entwined snakes. As Crowley approached, they were swung open by servants who bowed low in obeisance. Crowley paid them not the least mind as he strode through the entrance and into his abode.

They stopped in what seemed to be a reception chamber and Lord Crowley gestured to a servant, a pale gray gnome-like creature wearing a red cap. The creature scurried forward and bowed low.

“How may I be of service, my Lord?” the creature asked, voice guttural.

“Please take my guest to the onyx chambers in my wing,” he commanded, “and see to his comfort and safety. I must attend to a few matters.”

“Of course, my Lord,” the creature assured him. He turned to look at Ezra. “If you will follow me, sir.”

Ezra stared at Crowley for a moment, feeling a bit lost and overwhelmed. Crowley seemed to notice and waved a hand impatiently. “I will see to you in the morning, human,” he said brusquely. “For now, please have your rest. I assure you, no one will dare to interfere with you tonight.”

And just like that, he was dismissed. Ezra didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended. Lord Crowley obviously gave it no further thought, as he turned and strode away without another glance. _I’m just a new possession to him,_ Ezra thought. It wasn’t like he cared what the prince thought of him; of course not. It was just that he suddenly felt again, more deeply than he had for some time, how very, very far from home he was, and how alone.

With no other viable options before him, Ezra turned and followed the strange little servant out of the room.


	7. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra's first day at the Dark Court does not go as anyone expects.

Ezra woke the next morning and for a moment didn’t remember where he was. He rolled over in the surprisingly comfortable bed he found himself in, admiring the feel of the sheets against his skin, and listened idly for the birdsong to which he usually woke.

It all came crashing back when he realized that what he’d taken for dappled sunlight coming through the cottage window was in fact the light from a dying fire in the grate. He opened an eye and confirmed that there were no windows whatsoever, and definitely no birds here.

He was in Hell. Well, not literally in Hell. In the Fae version of it, perhaps. And his capricious new Lord had promised to “see to him” this morning.

He groaned and threw the covers off. Sleep was gone for the day.

Ezra took a closer look around. The room he’d been settled in was surprisingly large and comfortable – he had to admit it far exceeded the servant’s quarters he’d been given in the Seelie Court. There was a large fireplace with an elaborate mantel, a four-poster bed that was rather sumptuously made up in black and gray, and a thick, warm rug on the floor. A large cupboard on one side of the room opened to reveal a small but serviceable amount of clothing – mostly tunics and leggings and cloaks – that looked warm and roughly his size. And there was a small writing table, as well as a basin and mirror where he could clean up, somehow mysteriously full of steaming hot water the moment he looked at it.

This should have been comforting, he knew. But rather, it made him feel a little cornered. He didn’t want to be a prisoner in a fancier cage. It remained to be seen if that was what he was.

\--

The same redcap from the night before appeared an hour later to bring him to Lord Crowley’s chamber for a meeting. Ezra tried to pay close attention to the route between the two rooms, wondering as he did if the Dark Hall rearranged itself the way Griane’s realm did.

The redcap stopped before an immense set of black wooden doors, highly polished and emblazoned with carved snakes in a motif Ezra was beginning to recognize as some kind of family crest. The creature raised a thick hand and knocked loudly, then stepped back as the doors swung open of their own accord.

Ezra was shown into a dimly lit room that appeared to be some kind of study. Unlike the rest of what he’d seen of the castle, this room was stark and severe. The walls were smooth stone, almost like concrete, completely unfeatured except for the occasional piece of art (was that the Mona Lisa? he thought in shock) and a tall bookshelf or two. The main furnishings were a pair of leather couches pulled up near the fireplace with a short table between them. He also spied an immense desk-like table in the back with ornate gold legs and what appeared to be a gold throne behind it. Aside from a few terrified looking plants, the room was otherwise unadorned.

“Good morning, Ezra,” Lord Crowley said, from his seat on one of the two black sofas. He was attired similarly to the day before, complete with the dark glasses that appeared to be his trademark. “Sleep well?”

“Actually, yes, my Lord,” Ezra said. “Thank you for the comfortable accommodations.”

“Don’t thank me,” the prince reminded him with a frown. He indicated a seat across from him. “Have a seat. I’ve had some food brought in.”

Ezra suddenly realized he was ravenous, and the food here looked quite good. There were small pastries, a pile of fruits, and a handful of cheeses. He leaned forward and helped himself to a few items. The Prince poured them both a goblet of some kind of light green wine that smelled delicious.

Lord Crowley observed him for a few minutes as he tucked into the food.

“I have a few questions for you, Ezra,” he said. “First off, how did you come to be here?”

Ezra grimaced and decided to be forthright. “I’m afraid I stumbled right in of my own accord. I was leading an excursion of school children to a local tor, and there was a storm, and I accidentally spiraled down the hill in the wrong direction and didn’t realize what had happened. Then I, uh, met your sister.”

Crowley nodded. “And she forced you to eat and drink?”

Ezra colored. “Not exactly.”

Lord Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do elaborate.”

“I – I –” Ezra sighed dramatically and spoke fast. “I thought they were actors. In costume, you know? Role players. Like a – a masque, I think you’d call it? And then they offered me a little cake, and it just looked so _good_. It seemed rude not to eat it, and I was terribly hungry…”

Crowley threw back his head and laughed. Ezra watched him, alternately fascinated and offended. It took him a minute to get hold of himself. He finally did, reaching up and wiping beneath his glasses to remove a tear or two. He finally heaved a sigh and grinned sharply at Ezra.

“Well done, Ezra. Throwing away your birthright and the land of your people for a piece of cake.” He chortled again.

“Indeed,” Ezra said stiffly.

“I’ll tell you what, that alone is worth the price of having acquired you,” Lord Crowley said. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since someone has actually made me laugh.”

“So glad to have been of service,” Ezra muttered. “My Lord.”

Crowley raised both eyebrows and looked at him more closely. “Are you _pouting_?”

Ezra squared his shoulders and took a sip of his wine. “Certainly not!”

“Nonetheless,” Crowley said, suddenly stern. “I know that’s not the only reason you’re here.”

Ezra blinked, confused by the sudden and mercurial change in mood. “Pardon me?”

Crowley leaned forward. “I know you’ve been spying on me.”

“I – I have simply no idea what you mean!”

“How did you do it? How did you breach the boundaries of my court?” Lord Crowley asked. “I must warn you that telling untruths in my realm will not be tolerated. The consequences will be severe.”

Ezra frowned. “What is there to be untruthful about? I’ve never met you before, Lord Crowley, and until I got here I’d never heard of you.”

Lord Crowley sat as still as a statue, observing him from behind his glasses, Ezra thought, like a hawk watches a mouse. 

“That cannot be true,” he snarled. “You are hiding the truth from me somehow, just like you’re hiding your name.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” Ezra said staunchly. “You purchased me from your sister the day I met you. I have never seen you before. I am a teacher in my world, of – of stories. I’ve no interest in – what did you call it? Espionage.”

Crowley stood up from his seat and paced the room. He wandered back to the desk, hands clasped behind his back, and then over to one of the bookcases, where he idly fiddled with various things on the shelves.

“Come here please, Ezra,” he called, his tone unreadable.

Ezra stood and joined him, a little nervous.

He gestured at the shelf in front of him. “Do you know what these are?”

Ezra looked closely and noted a series of large, round glass bottles – not unlike the type of bottles people liked to put ships inside in his world, but sitting on their ends so that their narrow necks pointed upwards. Each was closed tight with a cork. He leaned in and tried to see what was inside them, but they appeared to be filled with rolling mist.

“I do not,” he said finally. “What are they?”

Crowley leaned forward and tapped on the sides of one of the bottles. The smoke cleared and inside Ezra spied – a creature? A living creature, although Ezra couldn’t say what kind. It sat cross-legged inside the bottle, eyes closed, its chest rising and falling.

“What on Earth is that?”

Crowley made a tsk sound. “Not on Earth,” he corrected. “Be precise, please. And it’s someone who betrayed me.”

Ezra recoiled. “You keep your enemies in little bottles on your office shelves?”

Crowley nodded, his face devoid of expression as he watched Ezra closely.

“Is – is that supposed to be some kind of threat?”

Crowley shrugged. “I’m just letting you know that I’m not someone to be trifled with.”

Ezra felt a pang of fear, and then his face coloring as a hot spasm of anger washed over him. “Very well,” he bit out. “I understand.”

He turned and walked back to the couch, where he picked up his glass and drained it.

Lord Crowley followed him, looking intrigued despite himself. “You… are _angry_?” he said wonderingly.

Ezra shrugged, still not looking at him. “What could it possibly matter?”

“Humor me,” the Prince said, sounding amused.

It was the implied laughter that did it. Ezra was a patient man, slow to anger, but the past few weeks had been beyond trying, and he knew he was ripe with tension that needed an outlet. He’d tried to keep himself under tight rein but this was simply more than could be borne. He put his glass down with a bang and turned around to face the Prince, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

“I’m here at _your_ invitation,” he said. “You _purchased_ me like a piece of furniture and dragged me here, and now you’re swinging back and forth between being nice to me and threatening to stuff me in a bottle if I don’t admit to something I have no knowledge of, and it is _infuriating!”_

Crowley raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Ezra knew he should stop but he just couldn’t. “I have been treated like chattel ever since I got to this world and I have had _enough._ I don’t care who you are, your majesty, but I must insist on being treated like a being with basic dignity. And if you can’t manage that, then you can send me back to your sister.”

The Prince’s eyebrows, he noted, literally could not climb higher, and his amusement was beginning to darken into something more dangerous.

“You can’t speak to me this way, human,” the Prince warned.

“I can speak to you however I choose,” Ezra said, by now bluffing his way through the remnants of anger and into the harsh beginnings of outright terror at what he had just done. “And if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back to my room. I appreciate the breakfast.”

And without a further word, he sketched a deep and respectful but utterly cold bow, and turned and exited the room.

He was vastly relieved when his room was where he had left it. It would have ruined his exit, he thought, if he had had to go back and ask for directions.

\--

Crowley watched in utter shock as the mortal had the nerve to storm out on him. He had never, ever, in his entire life had a lesser being – or even any being, for that matter – treat him in such a manner. He stood unmoving with his hands at his sides for several seconds after Ezra left, until the slamming of the door behind him woke him from his reverie.

He picked up the empty glass Ezra had left behind and dashed it at the wall as hard as he could, shattering it into thousands of tiny shards. Then, just for fun, he turned the shards into little flames and made them dance for a while until he ruthlessly stomped them out.

Stupid human, he thought. Thinking he had the right to lecture him. To yell. At him! The Lord of the Unseelie Court! Creatures had been banished for less, turned to toads for less, served at dinner for less. The mortal had better learn some manners, and fast.

He stalked off to attend to court business, leaving Ezra alone. Let him stew for a while in this disaster of his own making, the Prince thought. He hoped the human was very, very afraid.

\--

Ezra spent the rest of the morning jittering about in his room, the anxiety pooling in his stomach and threatening to overwhelm him. He had just yelled at, insulted, and walked out on the feared Prince of the Unseelie Court. The one on whose favor his life depended. The one who, according to the servant girl, would eat you alive if you displeased him. He had lost his cool, he had lost his mind, and he couldn’t imagine what was going to happen to him now.

Whatever it was, he just hoped it would be quick. He had no interest in spending the next eon or two trapped in a bottle. Perhaps the Prince would just vaporize him instead.

When nothing at all happened for the next few hours, boredom gradually began to overtake the fear. There was only so much pacing one could do, even in a large chamber such as this. Worrying quickly became unbearably repetitive. He scanned the room looking for something with which he could occupy himself, but he found nothing – no reading material, no games, no cards. Finally, in desperation for something to occupy his mind, he pulled out his field notebook from the school, and sat down at the small writing desk in the corner.

 _Dear Anathema,_ he wrote. _You’d never believe me if I told you where I am. I only hope I can return some day and tell you the tale of it over a few pints, or perhaps a bottle of whiskey. Yes, I think the stronger spirits are required for this one…_

He paused for a few moments to think and chew on his pen, and then went on inscribing a long letter to her, even though he had no way to send it, just because it felt good to pretend he was talking to her.

\--

The entire court could tell Lord Crowley was in a foul mood, and not in the pleasant, reassuring way that meant all was as expected in the land of the Unseelie. This was different. This was the murderous, just-give-me-an-excuse-to-throw-you-in-the-chasm mood that made the entire court quake in their boots. The Prince had violently heaved himself into his chair and proceeded to call order to the day’s requests, cutting short each and every petitioner, rejecting claims out of hand without listening, and settling disputes in the most arbitrary of manner.

Normally, this would be delightful – after all, who really expected the Unseelie court to be a paragon of justice and virtue? But Lord Crowley was a dangerous foe, unpredictable and powerful, and if more and more of the petitioners crept away without asking for their cases to be heard, who could really blame them?

Behind pillars, inside caves, in dark and dismal corners, the members of the court whispered to each other. What had happened to their Prince to put him in such a dark mood? Did it have something to do with the ridiculous human he had suddenly shown up with last night? Had he accidentally killed it already, when he was hoping to torment it for longer? Had its stamina not been quite what he had hoped? Had it been – horror of horror – _stoic_ , rather than screaming and pleading and crying when faced with the agony Lord Crowley had undoubtedly inflicted?

They formed theories, and shared notes, and the rumors swirled like leaves in the wind.

\--

Crowley noted the rest of his petitioners slipping quietly away, and he welcomed it. He was in no mood. He summoned one of the banshees to bring him wine and then sat drinking himself into a funk. And as he drank, he ruminated.

The idiot human, he muttered to himself. As if he had any right to be offended. He… he was the Lord of the Dark Court. His decisions were law. If he chose to threaten someone, he could do so with impunity. The rest of the court knew that and respected it fully.

Just leave it to some puny mortal, stolen away from his home and lost in a land he couldn’t possibly understand, completely alone and undoubtedly more frightened than he was letting on, to suddenly form the backbone to stand up to him. It was like a flower fairy standing up to a cave troll. It was pointless and suicidal and, he hated to admit, very, very brave.

He was, he realized, utterly fascinated.

What else, he wondered, was this Ezra creature capable of?

\--

Ezra began to wonder if he was going to be punished by starving to death when there was a knock at his door.

He nearly gasped when he opened it and found Lord Crowley there, looking calm, cool, and collected.

“May I enter?” the Prince asked.

Ezra stood aside, puzzled.

Crowley wandered in and inspected the room closely, hands behind his back. “Is the chamber to your liking?” he asked.

“Yes, very much,” Ezra said, feeling somewhat lost. “Much nicer than my accommodations at your sister’s.”

Crowley flashed him a grin at this, and Ezra got the feeling this was probably the right thing to have said.

“If you’re here to smite me,” Ezra said cautiously, “I’d prefer to be a toad rather than be stuffed in a bottle.”

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “I was overly harsh with you,” he said, studiedly looking into the fire. “But I will keep your preferences in mind for the future.”

Was that humor? Ezra wondered. He couldn’t quite tell, but he got the feeling that it was.

If the Lord of Unseelie was going to attempt to make peace with him, he thought, he would meet him halfway.

“And I was foolish to lose my temper with you, Lord Crowley,” he said, politely. “I hope you’ll forgive my outburst.”

Crowley shrugged, turning to look at him. “You had cause,” he said, then raised a finger in warning, a bit of a smile playing around the edge of his lips. “Although if you were to speak to me in such a manner in front of a member of my court, I would have no choice but to turn you into a pillar of soot and ash.”

Fair enough, Ezra thought. “Noted.”

Lord Crowley snapped and servant came in with a tray, loaded with food. The Fae, Ezra noticed, didn’t appear to eat much in the way of meat. There were eggs and cheeses and all kinds of fruits and vegetables, but no real slabs of steak or drumsticks. He supposed this was for the best, as it saved him from worrying about what kind of sentient creature he might be unwittingly eating.

The servant muttered a few words and a table and two chairs appeared in an unused corner of the room. He laid out the food and beat a quick retreat, not even daring to make eye contact with the Prince. _Everyone_ had heard about his mood today.

“Sup with me,” Lord Crowley said awkwardly. “If you would.”

“Thank you,” Ezra said, then cursed as Lord Crowley stiffened. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’d like that.”

Crowley relaxed and settled down into a chair, created some wine out of thin air, and waited for Ezra to serve himself before choosing a few grapes and a small round of cheese for himself.

“May I ask,” Ezra said, wiping his mouth carefully with a napkin he was fairly sure was made from spiderwebs. “What is my role to be here in your court?”

The prince frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Am I a servant?” he asked. “Am I a prisoner? Am I… a guest? What do you want me for?”

Crowley appeared to consider it closely for a moment as he chewed and swallowed another grape.

“To be honest,” he said, “I’m not entirely sure. I think for now, I’d just like to talk with you on occasion, if that’s agreeable. You… interest me.”

Ezra felt some kind of emotion tugging at him, but he couldn’t identify it. “I would find that most amenable,” he admitted.

“But you can’t go slamming a door in my face every day,” Crowley warned. “I’m not used to such treatment and I don’t know what I might do if you push me too far.”

Ezra kept his face calm as he internally rolled his eyes. Crowley eyed him suspiciously as if he could see exactly what he was doing.

“Very well,” Ezra said, “but you can’t threaten to imprison me any time I displease you. You brought me here for a reason. Perhaps we should figure out what that is.”

Crowley assessed him for an inscrutably long moment.

“I agree to your demands,” he said finally, lifting his glass.

Ezra met it with his own with a delicate clink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and encouraging me! You keep me going!


	8. The Banquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra settles into life at the Dark Court, but the curiosity of the court abounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, this one came out to be over 6000 words, so I split it in two, both of which will be published today! Please get a cup of fairy grog before you start reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

The next two weeks passed relatively peacefully. Crowley continued to dine with him morning and evening and was willing to entertain a few questions each time. Ezra remained aware that, no matter how friendly these meetings might appear, there was a further purpose to them. He was being closely watched, evaluated even, for reasons he did not understand.

Crowley asked him questions about his home, about life on Earth, and about the things he taught his students. Ezra tried to answer him as fully as could, while steering largely away from naming any of the specific people he spent his time with. Best not to turn anyone else’s names over to the Fae, he thought.

He seemed particularly interested in what Ezra knew about the stories of the Fae as they were told on Earth, frequently asking him to recite or summarize some story or poem he remembered from his readings or teaching. The Prince seemed to live to poke holes in the stories, to laugh uproariously at the bits they got wrong, and occasionally looked darkly concerned at parts he made Ezra go over and over again. He assumed that these were the parts the poets had gotten unexpectedly correct.

They both had a surprisingly enjoyable time during these talks. Although he never got the feeling that Lord Crowley exactly trusted him, Ezra was beginning to think that the Prince liked him.

He was concerned to find that he felt mostly the same. The Unseelie Prince, while foreign and unknowable in some ways, was erudite and possessed of a wry, sharp sense of humor and had a way of focusing his attention so completely on a person that you could forget yourself. He was elegant and tasteful, with a taste for fine wine that mirrored Ezra’s own. He made for easy company, when he was in the right mood.

 _You are essentially a prisoner here,_ Ezra told himself, every night, every morning. _Do not let yourself get distracted._

And yet, he always found himself looking forward to the next visit.

\--

Over time, the boredom of being left to his own devices for much of the day began to drive Ezra mad. He paced, he wrote long, unsent letters to Anathema, he sketched a little. When that got old, he wandered through the few rooms in the residential wings that Crowley had said he could explore, trying to discover a bit more about where he was and how he fit in.

This particular wing of the Dark Hall seemed to be reserved solely for the Prince’s personal use and that of any of his guests. While it was mostly deserted, it did offer some opportunities for exploration. There was a small library called the records hall, filled mostly with books and scrolls he couldn’t read, a couple of reception rooms with odd displays of artifacts and gems and what appeared to be tapestries of important battles and desecrations, and another handful of guest suites that were similar to his. Crowley’s rooms, however, were locked to him, and he didn’t quite dare to try to make his way through that enchantment.

For the most part, the wing was largely deserted, other than the redcaps who appeared to work for Lord Crowley and who rarely appeared and never spoke. So, it was with some degree of surprise that one day, he walked into the records hall to find a figure hunched over the central table.

“Oh!” he said, stepping back. “Pardon me. I didn’t know anyone else used this room!”

The creature looked up at him. “And who are you?” it grumbled.

Ezra took a moment to examine the being before him. It was a tall and angular creature, humanoid in appearance but with jet black eyes with no visible whites, and a shock of white hair sticking up and out in all directions. More immediately arresting, however, were the two large horns that curled up from the sides of its head.

“I am the mortal who is under Lord Crowley’s protection,” he finally said, choosing his words carefully.

The creature at the table blinked in surprise and then broke into a grin. “Well, aren’t you a clever one,” it said. He stood and shook out a long, ragged overcoat that had seen better decades, and reached out a hand encrusted in fingerless gloves that looked utterly filthy. “Lord Hastur.”

Ezra, not wanting to be rude, reached out and shook his hand. “Ezra,” he said. “You, uh, like books?”

“Well I know that you do, from the number of books that were lying around open when I came in here.” Hastur looked down at the one he had open in front of him. He grinned up at Ezra again.

“What were you reading?”

“These are fairy books, mortal. We don’t _read_ them.” He raised the book so Ezra could see that it was covered in odd-looking characters he couldn’t make out.

“Then – “ Ezra had a feeling he was being manipulated but he couldn’t help but ask. “Then how do you get the information from them?”

Hastur held his gaze and slowly, meaningfully ripped a page from the book and crammed it into his mouth. Ezra gasped and reached out as if to stop him, then held himself back as the Fae carefully chewed and then swallowed the entire page, all without breaking eye contact.

“Oh,” he said, “that was a good one, very informative!” He looked down at the book. “Should I read another one?”

“No!” Ezra exclaimed. “Leave it alone! That’s desecration!”

Hastur winked at him. “Where do you think you are, mortal, the Shining Court?” He stood up and made as if to leave, then came back to tuck the book under his arm. “I think I’ll take this with me. Might need a snack later.”

\--

“I met Hastur today,” Ezra told Crowley later that day. “He was in the records hall.”

Crowley swore. “Was he eating the books again?”

Ezra sighed. “Yes. He told me that’s how you read them in the Dark Court.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t try it, did you?”

“No, of course not!” Ezra said. “It’s not true, is it?”

“Not as far as I know. I’ve never tried.” Crowley shrugged. “But it raises a point I’ve been considering. I think I need to get you out into the court more.”

“You do?”

“Yes. People know I have a mortal here, and they’re curious. They’re going to start coming up with excuses to try to run into you if I don’t make you at least somewhat visible.” He paused. “That’s probably the only reason that bastard was in the library today, come to think of it.”

“Ah,” Ezra said. “Will I be safe? Out in plain sight, I mean?”

Crowley looked forbidding. “You’re _my_ human,” he growled. “Anyone who wishes to mess with you would have to go through me first, and believe me that there are few who would dare.”

Ezra blinked at him a few times. “While I am not unappreciative, I am my _own_ ,” he said faintly but with a vein of stubbornness that Lord Crowley was coming to know well.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Lord Crowley said, waving a hand. “But trust me, out in public, it’s important that people here think you’re my vassal and I am your liege. You don’t have to pose as a servant,” he said quickly, seeing the objection beginning to form on Ezra’s face. “But you have to stay with me, and behave respectfully. Like a guest. Deviating from that will be seen as a sign of weakness, and there are many here who would exploit that.”

Ezra considered it. “I suppose I can do that.”

Crowley looked unimpressed. “Oh, you _suppose_ you can treat me with good manners like a guest of the fey should and stay by my side?” 

Ezra rolled his eyes, then made an appeasing gesture as the Prince raised an eyebrow in warning. “Of course I can be polite. I will do as you ask, Lord Crowley.”

Crowley examined him, suspecting sarcasm as Ezra hardly ever used his formal title anymore, and then sat back, apparently satisfied. “Good then,” he said. “There’s a banquet tonight to celebrate a successful raid. We’ll go to that and let everyone get a look at you. That should stave everyone off from rampant curiosity for a few days.”

\--

The banquet was already in full swing by the time they arrived – Ezra could hear the ruckus before they entered the room. Crowley paused behind a large curtain and turned to him.

“Ezra,” he said warningly, “this isn’t the Seelie court. It’s chaotic. Occasionally violent. There will likely be fights, possibly bloodshed. The redcaps alone -- ” he shuddered.

“How festive,” Ezra said faintly.

Crowley gave him what was likely meant to be a reassuring smile, then indicated to the herald to go ahead and announce his entrance.

“Oh,” Crowley added, over his shoulder just before sweeping into the room, “and make sure not to eat any of the meat.”

 _Wonderful_ , Ezra thought, and followed him in.

The banquet took place in a large, round hall – it was floored with a black and white parquet pattern, with stern stone walls rising up to a ceiling that looked like it was made of tree roots. Were they under a hill? Ezra wondered. Banners in bright colors and black accents fluttered from the walls, representing he knew not what, and torches along the walls and large hanging chandeliers dripping with candles provided illumination. A long table down one side was literally bursting with food – trays and platters abounded, overflowing with fruits, airy confections, piles of ripe cheese, and other mouth-watering dishes. At the far end of the room, he noted that something disturbingly large was cooking on a spit over an open pit of flame.

What took his breath away were the inhabitants of the room. The room was packed, tip to tail, with the denizens of the Unseelie court, and from his position seated beside Crowley on a raised platform at one end of the room, he could see little more, at first, then a huge swath of bodies of every shape and size, swarming together, eating, carousing, and fighting.

Lord Crowley leaned over from the large, thronelike seat he was occupying and touched Ezra’s shoulder. “They will be coming to pay obeisance now. Pay attention and say little.”

A large creature he assumed was some kind of troll led the way, coming over to slam his bulk down onto one knee and lower his head in front of the golden throne. “Lord Crowley,” the creature said, his voice like two slabs of stone grating over each other. “I pay tribute for my clan.” He glanced at Ezra but made no comment.

Crowley made a gesture and the creature retreated, soon to be replaced by a pair of fox-headed creatures whose muzzles were disturbingly flecked with pieces of meat and gristle. They bowed more elegantly than the troll had, then turned their glossy eyes to examine Ezra closely. “You have a new mortal,” one of them said wonderingly, voice as oily as their whiskers. “Would he like to come play?”

“He would not,” the Prince growled. “Begone.”

“Who were they?” Ezra asked.

“The Puksos twins,” Crowley said as they left. “Never trust them.”

The next few were more familiar – Hastur, who grinned at him as if they were sharing some kind of inside joke, the pointy-toothed girl he’d seen at the negotiations, and then Lord Beelzebub, who bowed politely but did not fall to one knee as the others had. “My Prinzze,” they said, then turned to Ezra. “Human. Are you finding the Dark Court to your tastezz?”

Ezra raised an eyebrow in his best imitation of the confidence he was not feeling. “It is quite fascinating,” he said coolly.

Beelzebub cracked a disturbing smile and then was motioned in to speak quietly with the Prince for a few minutes. Ezra took the chance to scan the revelry happening before him. To the left of them, a set of more traditional-looking fairies, tall and slim with ragged wings, were dancing in kind of a whirling dervish pattern with clasped hands, with some type of smaller creature trapped in the middle. Behind them, a set of three heavy-set gray creatures were devouring a large haunch of meat that they had liberated from the spit – they were ripping into it with teeth and claw in a way Ezra found most disturbing, so he turned his attention elsewhere. Many of the members of the court were simply chatting and eating; small flying creatures flitted here and there, occasionally zooming in for a closer look at Ezra, who at first found them charming and then recoiled as they grinned at him with needle-like teeth and pretended to take bites at him.

“They’re like – they’re like mosquitoes!” Ezra murmured. “At least they don’t hum.”

The creatures, of course, overheard this and immediately set up an irritating humming sound, buzzing all around his head. Ezra forced himself to stop flailing at them and looked over to find Crowley watching him with some amusement.

When Ezra glared at him expectantly, he shrugged and manifested what looked like a fly swatter and handed it over. Ezra tested the heft of it in his hand, then waved it threateningly at the nearest creature, who backed off suspiciously. He whacked one of them lightly on what he took to be its backside, and the swarm loudly raspberried him and flew off.

“What charming little creatures,” he said to Crowley, who grinned and passed him a large goblet of something that smelled delicious.

After another long stream of creatures coming up to bend the knee to their Prince, Lord Crowley stood up and gestured to Ezra to rise as well. “Let’s get you some food,” he said charitably. “You’re holding up well, but I know how you get when you don’t eat.”

Ezra made a small face but came along agreeably enough. It wasn’t like the Prince was _wrong_ , after all.

Crowley led him to the table, where he handed Ezra a plate and watched him pick and choose, explaining to him here and there what he was looking at. He ended up picking a few of the more choice fruits and cheeses, a lovely roll studded with something he couldn’t quite identify, and was leaning down to examine the pastries when he sensed something other than Crowley beside him.

It was a woman, he thought, although her skin was as white as paper and tinged with the faintest sheen of blue. Her hair was tangled with leaves and bark, and her fingers, which she held partially covering her face, were much, much longer than they should have been and appeared to have an extra joint. She peered out between them with eyes that were a solid and milky white, appearing for all the world to be blind, although Ezra had the strong sense that he was being observed nonetheless.

“Hello,” he said politely, looking around for Crowley, who had been pulled into conversation a few feet away.

“Aren’t you a pretty one...” she whispered, leaning closer and bringing a hand towards his face. “May I touch you?”

Ezra took a step back. “You may not,” he said sharply. “With all due respect, madame. I do not know your intentions.”

She dropped her hand to her side and studied him. “Ah, wiser than you look, my child,” she said, still in her eerie whisper. “A spy from the world of mortals, are you? A toy? A present for the Prince?”

“I am no spy,” Ezra muttered under his breath. This was the _last_ thing he wanted Crowley to hear now that they had finally seemed to move past his initial suspicions. He glanced over at him nervously and wondered if he was imagining that his back looked stiffer than it had a moment ago.

“Ah,” she said, “ye can’t fool me, human. You are not all that you appear. There is a touch of fate about you, something more than accident that drew you here.” She swayed on her feet, as if listening to a tune. “You are a herald of some kind. You bring unwelcome change.”

Ezra swallowed the desire to argue. “I must bid you good night,” he said, and took his plate and headed back to his seat near the throne.

When Crowley came back a few minutes later, he didn’t even spare Ezra a glance. His posture was tight and he threw himself into his throne, twitching one foot in a gesture that reminded him of how cats flicked their tails around when they were angry.

Ezra took the silence for as long as he could, then he took a deep breath. “I assume you heard all of that?” he asked.

Crowley did not spare him a look. “I did.”

“It’s nonsense,” he said, firmly.

“Clodagh is a seer, Ezra,” Crowley hissed. “Her visions hold kernels of truth. Always.”

“You can sense if I lie,” Ezra reminded him.

Crowley turned a gaze on him that could have frozen a lesser man. “Don’t I know it,” he said. “It’s like a compass, my ability to sense truth from lies. And with you? It never lands on either, it just spins around and around like it can’t tell which way the truth is.”

Ezra blanched. “I have not once lied to you, my Lord.”

“Enough,” Crowley said, imperious. “Do not speak to me.”

“Very well,” Ezra said, irritated. “Shall I just, what, go dance, then?”

Crowley glared at him. “If you dare.”

Ezra glared back, drained his cup, and wandered off into the crowd in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! This one took me a long, long time to get finished. Next chapter coming very shortly and contains events you have all been hankering for. :)
> 
> And this is how I was envisioning the Clodagh the seeress: [Unseelie Lady ](https://inspirationpie932794997.files.wordpress.com/2018/02/unseelie-court.jpg?w=525)


	9. The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra finds trouble at the banquet, and Crowley finally reveals something that has been hidden.

Crowley lounged in deep irritation on his throne, idly keeping one eye on Ezra, who so far had not gotten into serious mischief, and discontentedly watching his court behave badly, or in other words completely appropriately. They were fighting, drinking, causing bloodshed and mayhem, looking to him now and then for the expected acknowledgement of their feats of dishonor, and otherwise boring him to fucking tears. There were only so many ways you could watch the strong beat on the weak or the clever toy with the naïve without feeling like you’d seen it a few thousand times before.

Beelzebub re-appeared suddenly at his side, watching the proceedings with the same hint of disinterest. As the Prince’s second-in-command, they were one of the only creatures who dared speak the truth to Lord Crowley, and annoying as that was, the Prince was somewhat grateful for it.

“What’zzz wrong with you?” they said bluntly. “Some parties are saying the mortal is twizzting your brain.”

Crowley turned to glare at them. “Are they?” he growled. “And are you in agreement with them?”

Beelzebub observed him coolly. “I am not,” they finally said. “I can sense no enchantment on you. But you muzzt admit you’ve been a bit strange lately. Dizztracted. Less interested in --” they waved “—all of thizz.”

“Eternity is a long, long time,” Crowley said, knowing that Beelzebub was one of the few beings who would understand.

“It izz,” they said. “This izz true.” 

Crowley considered Beelzebub, wondering if he could trust them. “I keep wondering if I’m under enchantment, but I can’t see it either. I don’t feel like myself.”

“Perhaps you need to kill the mortal,” Beez said in a reasonable tone. “Or enchant him for a few hundred yearzz until the feeling goezz.”

Crowley shivered. He had two immediate reactions. The first and most feral part was wanting to rip Beelzebub’s head off for even suggesting either of those things. No one was going to hurt Ezra while he was able to do anything about it. The second reaction was one of deep shame and confusion – because he was supposed to feel like Beelzebub’s suggestions were the proper course of action. He wasn’t supposed to be confused and soft about this random mortal who had wandered into his life.

What was happening to him?

He leaned forward and scanned the crowd for Ezra. Where in the blazes had he gone off to? A sudden clamour at the far end of the room gave him a sinking feeling. He leapt off the throne and made his way over there.

\--

Lord Crowley pushed his way through a throng of people who had gathered to cheer something on. They were so intent on whatever they were watching that they hardly noticed their Prince was among them. When he finally made his way to the front, he was met with the heart stopping sight of Ezra, his Ezra, standing in the middle with a large, flaming torch in his hand, circling around in combat-ready stance with what appeared to be one of the spriggans, a particularly nasty tribe of Cornish fae who worked as bodyguards in the Dark Court because of their love for violence.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Crowley muttered, sizing up the situation. The spriggan was smaller than Ezra, but undoubtedly more dangerous. He had a wiry, compact body and a larger-than-normal head, with the features of a wizened old man, and he was circling Ezra and swiping at him with what appeared to be a wooden walking stick that had been sharpened into a lethal point on one end.

Ezra, for some reason, was in possession of one of the immense torches from the wall, and was handling it rather well, swinging it around as if it were a sword, thrusting and parrying, and in general keeping the spriggan, who did not care for fire, out of arms reach. He was, Crowley noted, holding his own for the moment.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” Crowley thundered.

Everyone in the circle, including the spriggan, froze instantly.

“Drop your weapons, both of you,” Crowley said, summoning some magic to make his words crackle like electricity. The spriggan’s stick clattered to the floor, and Ezra, not so easily cowed, lowered his torch but, he noted, held onto it. He heard approving murmurs from the crowd around him, a large number of whom appeared to be rooting for Ezra in this engagement.

“My – my Lord Prince –” said the spriggan, dropping to its knees. “I beg your forgiveness. The human offended me and – “

“And you challenged him to a fight,” Lord Crowley said, voice impassive and ice cold. “A weaponless human, who is here under my protection.”

The spriggan lost whatever color he had once possessed in his already sallow face and leaned down further to press his forehead into the floor. “I beg your mercy, my Lord –”

Crowley raised a hand in a threatening fashion and, after a long and desultory glare, snapped his fingers. The spriggan disappeared in a flash of light and the rest of the circled Fae took a horrified step back.

“The rest of you begone, before I bottle the lot of you,” Crowley growled, pointing a finger around the gathered creatures. “Find your amusements elsewhere.”

They quickly dispersed, melting into the crowd.

Crowley turned to Ezra, who was still, he noted with a little twinge of amusement, holding the torch in front of him with both hands. He was heaving with the exertion, and his face was pale. Nonetheless, he met the Prince’s eyes directly and stubbornly refused to look frightened.

“You,” Crowley said, crossing his arms over his chest, “are a fool. Fighting a spriggan? Do you know how many creatures he’s killed?”

Ezra straightened his shoulders. “I had no choice. I didn’t start it.”

“Creatures who have magic and powers far beyond your own?” Crowley continued. “All dead.”

“ _He_ attacked _me._ ”

Crowley eyed him. “And why was that?”

“He handed me something at the table and I forgot and thanked him.” Ezra had the grace to blush. “Next thing I knew he was chasing me across the room screaming about debt and trying to skewer me on that pole.”

Crowley shut his eyes and tried counting to ten. He knew it worked for humans. It did not work for him.

“So, I grabbed a torch when he cornered me here near the wall and tried to hold him off.” Ezra finished, looking spent. “I was managing.”

“Managing to attract a lot of people to come and watch your imminent death,” Crowley snapped. “You are the most foolish, ridiculous –”

“I did the best I could,” Ezra said peevishly. “It’s not like you were there to help me.”

Crowley blinked. “Oh, so you deliberately walk away from me in a crowd and then I’m to blame when you find trouble?”

Ezra shrugged, and the Prince watched as the faintest hint of a pout began to show on his face.

He rolled his eyes. “Very well,” he said, “I think it’s time to get you home. Put that ridiculous thing down and come with me.”

Crowley marched them quickly back to Ezra’s chambers, where he inspected him for injury while thoroughly chewing him out for continuing to breach Fae etiquette with his obsessive need to thank people (“I am not used to being impolite!”), his stubbornness in walking away from Crowley during the banquet (“You told me to go!”), and his suicidal tendency to not back down when faced with a challenge (“What was I supposed to do, apologize?”).

“Well I’ll tell you one thing, Ezra,” Crowley said, circling him and eyeing him closely for any hidden injuries. “You managed to impress not a small number of the Fae in attendance with your ridiculous insistence on fighting.”

Ezra softened his defensive stance a little. “So that’s good, right?”

Crowley hummed. “It might be. It might not. I can’t say.”

“I won’t apologize for trying to defend myself,” Ezra snapped, watching Crowley closely. “He would have killed me.”

Crowley frowned. “I don’t want you to apologize for defending yourself. Do you think I want you dead?” His voice was rising in spite of himself. “I want you to stop seeking out trouble. I want you to show a modicum of self-preservation. I want you to tell me who you are and WHY YOU ARE HERE!”

They stood, facing each other, tension crackling in the air for an ineffably long moment, and then Crowley whirled and strode out, slamming the door behind him. 

\--

He didn’t see Lord Crowley for a few days after that one, which was fine with him. He kept to his room mostly, making notes in his notebook of the creatures he had met, until one evening the Prince showed up, acting as if their argument had never happened.

“I have something to show you,” the Prince said, and after a moment’s consideration, Ezra decided to accept this as the olive branch it was. He was becoming accustomed to the prince’s mercurial mood shifts, and knew better than to question them.

Crowley took him on a long, winding path through parts of the Dark Keep he’d never seen before, then up what seemed to be nearly a thousand curving steps. When they reached the top, the Prince ushered him out onto a rare and somewhat terrifying-looking tower balcony, high above the keep, offering a bird’s eye view down onto the rest of the structure and the fiery chasm below. Ezra tentatively followed him out to the railing, looking down while clutching the edge hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Nervous?” Crowley grinned.

“Hoping you haven’t brought me up here to throw me off, is all,” Ezra joked.

“Don’t tempt me, mortal,” the Prince said, but in a tone that let Ezra know he was just teasing.

“You can’t throw me off if I throw you off first,” he muttered, and was rewarded with a disapproving look.

Crowley turned his back on the vista before them, leaning back on the railing in a way that made Ezra blanch. “What’s wrong, pet?” he asked. “Worried about me?”

Ezra sniffed and tried to play it cool. “Not at all.”

“Good then, so you won’t mind when I do this,” Crowley said, hopping up to sit on the railing and leaning back rather dramatically, feet hooked through the rail to maintain his balance. 

“Oh, for the love of –” Ezra cried. “Yes, could you please just not do that so that you don’t end up –”

Crowley winked, and then leaned back and let go.

Ezra scrabbled forward to grab at him, but he was already gone. Crowley, Lord Crowley, dark lord of all he surveyed, had thrown himself from the parapet. Ezra heard someone letting out a long, high cry and took a moment to realize that it was him. He gasped for breath and leaned forward to look over the railing, trying to get a hint of what had happened to his sort-of-friend, only to find Crowley clinging, spider-like, to the wall about five meters down.

“Not a mortal, remember?” he called sweetly, then turned into a large black bird and flew back up. He settled on the railing, eyeing Ezra unreadably from one beady black eye.

“You!” Ezra whispered, stepping back and flattening himself against the wall. He cleared his throat and tried it again, louder. “You. Change back right now.”

Crowley shook his wings out and hopped down to the floor of the balcony before shifting quickly through several forms before landing on his more human-like persona. Ezra saw a large snake go by, followed by a gigantic black dog, followed by some kind of demonic-looking creature made of black smoke, followed by a few others that flew by too quickly to catch, before finally settling into his more familiar tall, lanky, pointy humanoid form.

Ezra waited exactly three seconds to be sure he was really back and to be sure he had his balance enough so that he wouldn’t knock him over the railing again – and then he walked up to him and shoved him, hard, in the chest.

“You,” he yelled, “are in irredeemable asshole.”

Crowley took a step or two back, caught off balance, but Ezra had a hold of him by his collar and kept him from falling over. Crowley straightened up and shoved back, much harder than Ezra had, knocking him back several steps and then advancing towards him menacingly.

“How could you!” Ezra yelled. “You -- you scared me to bloody death!”

“You know I can shift forms,” Crowley growled. “If you were frightened it’s hardly my fault.”

“It is _entirely_ your fault, you ridiculous narcissist!”

“You can’t be a narcissist when you literally are the most important person in the realm,” Crowley said reasonably.

Ezra, frustrated beyond words, shoved him again, more feebly this time, but enough to catch the Prince by surprise. He stumbled backwards again, dislodging his dark glasses in the process. They slipped down to his nose as Crowley lunged forwards, lifting Ezra by his lapels and slamming him into the wall behind him.

Ezra couldn’t help but notice that, despite the violence of the movement, Crowley made sure not to hit his head on the wall, even as he crowded up close to him and glared, nose to nose.

“I tolerated you assaulting me once,” he growled, voice taking on a surge of power that Ezra knew was meant to command him, “but DO NOT PUSH YOUR LUCK.” 

Ezra, momentarily overcome by emotions, blinked in dismay at him and stared at the face just a few inches from his own – and then gasped.

Crowley released him immediately. “What?”

“Holy – oh good lord – oh of all the bloody –” Ezra backed away, shaking his head, breathing hard.

Crowley morphed from frowning to concerned. Was the mortal under some kind of glamour? He appeared to be hallucinating. What was he seeing? Something horrifying, it appeared.

Ezra gathered himself and took a step towards him, examining something on his face closely. “You!” he breathed in horrified wonder. “It was – it was you?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Explain yourself.”

“Your eyes –” Ezra said. “It – it appears that – oh my goodness, could we please go inside and talk? I can’t do this out here where you might just decide to throw me off after all.”

Crowley, still worried about a curse or enchantment, took hold of his arm and instead of leading him back down the stairs, muttered a word and moved them immediately to Ezra’s room, where he carefully deposited Ezra on one of the dining chairs and then examined him closely. He circled him, eyeing him from all angles, reaching out with his senses to probe for attack or outside influence or spells and found –

Nothing. Exactly nothing.

“What,” he asked in frustration and concern, “is wrong with you? Tell me and I will fix it.”

Ezra laid his head in his hands. “I didn’t know,” he said weakly. “I promise you I didn’t know.”

Crowley took him by the shoulders and shook him, lightly. “Get ahold of yourself, angel, and tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Ezra took a deep breath and looked up, his eyes both wondering and also afraid. “Did you realize,” he said, “that before now, I’ve never seen your eyes?”


	10. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra and Crowley begin to be honest with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long delay on this! I have been sick with the dreaded coronavirus for a week now, but I am recovering and back to work on the chapters. This is kind of a slow, quiet, introspective chapter -- more coming soon now that I'm confined to my home with nothing to do but write! 
> 
> .  
> ,

Crowley let out a deep sigh and leaned forward in his seat, concentrating on Ezra with eyes that were a bit too intense.

“Run me through this one more time. So, you were hanging out with your friendly neighborhood hag –”

“Not a hag, she’s a lovely young witch who teaches art.”

“—and the hag taught you how to scrye in, what was it, a chamberpot for birds?”

“Not a chamberpot, a bath.”

“And you were looking into the bird chamberpot when –”

“It’s not a chamberpot!”

“—when all of a sudden my eyes and only my eyes appeared in front of you?”

“Essentially, yes.”

Crowley eyed him suspiciously. “What,” he said slowly, “were you scrying _for_?”

Ezra tried to dissemble. “I was just scrying. In general. You know. To see things.”

Crowley frowned ferociously. “That is the first untruth I’ve noted you telling me, Ezra, and I won’t tolerate it!” He took a deep breath. “What were you scrying for? What intention did you set?”

Ezra stood up and walked over to get himself a glass of the closest resemblance to scotch he’d been able to find in this plane.

“I – I didn’t know what intention to set,” he admitted while he fussed with the decanter, “so I asked my friend for a suggestion.”

“And?” Crowley asked.

He finished pouring, then turned around and levelled a steady gaze at the Prince. “And she told me to ask it to show me whatever I most needed to see.”

Crowley blinked. “Whatever you most needed to see,” he repeated slowly.

“Yes. I don’t understand it any more than you do.”

Ezra took his seat at the table and swirled the scotch, enjoying its warm golden color in the firelight. He was just about take a swallow when a thought occurred to him. 

“Wait a minute,” Ezra said. “So, am I to understand that you recognized me immediately, when you saw me at court?”

“Yes,” Crowley admitted. “I got a very clear look at you when you were scrying. And believe me, having someone suddenly open a scrying portal into your heavily shielded private chambers is not an experience you’re likely to forget any time soon. You made quite an impression.”

Ezra exhaled. “So that’s why you wanted me.”

Crowley nodded. “Needed to get to the bottom of that mystery. As soon as I saw you there, in Griane’s tent, I knew I couldn’t leave you there. You had to come with me.”

“And that’s why you distrusted me, all this time.” Ezra looked a little discouraged at that.

“Well you have to admit,” Crowley said, feeling a little guilty and then irritated at feeling guilty. “It appeared rather suspicious. I’ve known the whole time that you had appeared in my chamber barely more than a fortnight before you arrived. It certainly appeared you were hiding something.”

Ezra pondered that one. “Yes, I suppose I can see how you thought that. It must have looked horrible.”

“And you kept telling me you had never seen me before!” Crowley exclaimed. “You were telling me lies that you firmly believed to be true, which is why I couldn’t make heads or tails out of whether you were being honest. My ability to do so is mostly based on judging the speaker’s underlying intentions and emotional state.”

“Oh, my dear,” Ezra said, “I’m very sorry about that. I never meant to mislead you.”

My dear? Ezra shrank inwardly. What had possessed him to say _that_? Crowley appeared to brush it off without comment. They both took a drink as an undefinable sense of tension grew in the room.

“Why,” Crowley said, “do you think it was so important that you know what my eyes looked like?”

“I’d imagine,” Ezra said, “so that I could recognize you, when I finally met you.”

“But why?” Crowley said, frustrated.

“I don’t know. Because – because we needed to meet? Or perhaps you needed to know not to kill me. Or I needed to know not to try to escape before you got to know me. Or… or…” He gave up, unable to find the answer.

Crowley thought for a moment. “What were you thinking about before you asked the question to guide your scrying?”

Ezra scrunched up his nose and tried to remember. “It’s been a while since I’ve thought about it,” he said. “It was just a passing fancy one night, not something I took seriously.”

“Humor me.”

Ezra let his mind drift back. He remembered thinking about his parents and his brothers, and about whether he was interested in love or not, and then finally giving up and asking Anathema for help.

“I believe,” he said uncertainly, “that I was thinking about family, and love, and how I truly had neither in my life in any meaningful way.”

“And then you asked what you most needed to see.”

A blush spread over Ezra’s cheeks. He stared at the table, at Lord Crowley’s hand wrapped around the neck of his wine goblet, remembering the first time he’d seen those sharp, black nails at the Seelie Court when he didn’t dare look up to meet his gaze. He had the strangest feeling of heat building up in his body, of being both mortified and desperately interested in whatever the Prince was going to say next. He felt like he was floating out of his body as he saw his hand reach out, tentatively, as if to touch the Prince’s hand.

Crowley cleared his throat and stood up suddenly.

“I must go,” he announced, abruptly. “Much to think about.”

“Are you sure?” Ezra asked. “I’m happy to keep talking with you.”

“No, no,” Crowley said, retreating into his more formal persona. “Not at all, no.” He stood up and brushed his hands ineffectively against his pant legs, then glanced around as if trying to identify some external source for his discomfort. “Well then,” he said, eyes not meeting Ezra’s in any but the most fleeting glance. “I’ll just be – I had better be –”

He stopped talking entirely, turned sharply on his heel, and fled.

Ezra sank back into his chair and exhaled. All things considered, he thought, that had gone about as well as could be expected. He was grateful to still be in one piece. Still, he wasn’t quite sure what had compelled him to reach out for Crowley like that, and he had to admit it stung a little that he’d pulled away so dramatically.

He pushed the feeling aside, or tried to, and went on with his day.

\--

Something appeared to be changing between them, Lord Crowley thought. He was not at all sure what he thought about this. Certainly, finding out about the scrying and the rather innocent explanation for it – which did, finally, have the ring of full truth to it – had lessened the unbearable tension of never knowing for sure if Ezra was an enemy or a friend. But it was almost as if the tension between them hadn’t fully dispersed as much as morphed into a new form. Something new was coiling around his insides, squeezing them painfully.

It was desire, and he was not a bit pleased about it.

Of course, he was no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh. None in Unseelie truly were. If there was pleasure to be had, the dark Fae were quick to take it, consequences be damned. As their ruler, he’d had numerous liaisons over the centuries, even, on occasion, with a human before. But a human under glamour, he found, was not the most satisfying of companions. He found it boring, all that fawning and mindless compliance and pliability. Each of his human companions had quickly dulled and ultimately been returned to their home, mostly intact and with a little bit of a Fae blessing to help them readjust. He had never given most of them a second thought.

Unfortunately, he was discovering, his mind and heart had been waiting for something different. For someone who wasn’t afraid – even when he really, truly should be – to yell at him, to push back, to challenge him.

It seemed, he thought, that he needed a bit of a bastard.

And the powers of Fae and Earth help him, if he hadn’t found him. The thought was almost as enticing as it was fucking terrifying.

\--

When Ezra went to the records hall the next day, he found Lord Hastur and a creature he hadn’t met before waiting for him.

“Human!” Lord Hastur said jovially, beaming with what he probably thought was a welcoming smile but which was really a way to reveal a line of browning teeth in bad need of a cleaning. “Join us.”

Ezra smiled politely and sat down across the table and examined the creatures across from him. Hastur looked exactly the same as he had the last time he met him – as far as Ezra could tell, the man never changed his coat and must have preferred to look as bedraggled as possible. The creature beside him, however, was much more interesting. He was a dark-skinned figure with a humanoid body and slender eyes that appeared to change color from moment to moment. He was simply dressed in dark colors and a black cloak, but most striking about him was that he had what appeared to be a chameleon perched on his head, one hand laid almost lovingly on his forehead.

Both the creature and its lizard eyed him cautiously.

“This is Ligur,” Hastur said. “Friend of mine. We had a few questions for you.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Ezra said politely, and tried to ignore how they both snorted. “What can I do to help?”

“Well,” the creature known as Ligur said, “we were wondering if you could help us understand more about what humans find scary.”

“Yes,” Hastur added eagerly. “You see, coming up soon is a day when we are allowed to run free wreaking whatever kind of non-lethal havoc we want up in your world, and we’ve been working hard on developing a few, uh, tricks and treats, as your lot would say.”

“And you were hoping I could help you fine tune them to be more terrifying?” Ezra said, deadpan.

“Well yes,” Ligur said. “We saw you fighting the spriggan, after all. You don’t seem to frighten easily.”

“And you stood up to Lord Crowley,” Hastur added, “when he told you to drop your weapon. So, if we can scare _you_ \--”

“But, of course, we can’t just try to scare you with no warning,” Ligur added, “because Lord Crowley would kill us.”

“Or worse.”

“So, we thought, maybe we could workshop a few ideas with you?”

They both stopped and peered at him, fidgeting expectantly.

Ezra took a deep breath and let it out. It might be good to have some allies. “All right,” he said with a smile. “Let’s do it. Tell me what you have so far.”

\--

“I met Ligur today,” Ezra said over dinner. “You know, guy with the lizard?”

“Chameleon,” Crowley corrected without thinking. “It’s a chameleon.”

“He seemed nice enough.”

Crowley nearly spit out his wine. “Ligur is _not_ nice. Ligur would just as soon eat you as talk to you, if you must know.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Ezra said. “He was perfectly polite to me. Asked me to help him plan some scares for some upcoming holiday. Wanted to know more about humans.”

Crowley observed Ezra, wondering what was going on inside that fluffy head of his.

“Of course,” Ezra drawled, “he’s not as nice as _you_.”

 _Oh,_ Crowley thought, _so this is the game. Bastard._

“I’m not nice,” Crowley growled. “Not at all.”

Ezra smirked, obviously having gotten the reaction he was looking for, and busied himself with the wine bottle for a moment.

Crowley took the time to look him over appreciatively. How long had Ezra been with him now? A month? Six weeks? Time was a malleable concept here in the Fae world, so it was hard to tell.

“What are your plans, Ezra?” he surprised them both by asking.

Ezra froze, clearly thrown. “What do you mean?”

Crowley tried to figure that out himself. “If you had the choice – would you plan to stay here with me? Would you intend to go home at the first moment the opportunity arises?”

“I was under the impression,” Ezra said, “that I can’t go home. Because of the binding from the first food and drink I had. Is that not true?”

“It’s true, but like all things, there’s true and then there’s True,” Crowley admitted. “There’s probably some way to lift the binding that keeps you here. Would you want me to try to discover it?”

Ezra stared at Lord Crowley in astonishment. Was Crowley giving him – options? He’d never expected that. He was so used to being essentially a prisoner that now, when someone was asking if he’d like them to hold the cage door open, he had no idea how to react. Was this a test? A trick of some kind?

“I – “ he stammered. “I do like it here with you, Crowley, more than I’d expected to. But I’d appreciate it if you could look into it. Eventually I will need to get back to Earth, won’t I? I mean, I can hardly live here forever.”

Crowley’s face was unreadable. “I will look into it,” he finally said.

He remained distracted for the rest of the evening.

\--

Ezra tossed and turned in bed later that night, completely sleepless, and mulled over the conversation. No part of the discussion made sense to him in retrospect. Why was Crowley offering him an out? Was it a sign that he was actually a decent being? Was it a sign that he loved him? Or was it simply a test, something he was supposed to deny and therefore prove himself to the Prince?

And even worse were his own reactions. If you’d asked him two months ago if he wanted someone to look into freeing him, he’d have bowled them over with his unbridled enthusiasm for the concept. Yes! Please get me home! This is what you would _expect_ from a person locked in a shadow realm, away from everything they knew. Why was his response so measured, in comparison? Of course he wanted to get home! It was literally all he’d thought about since he got here. But he had to admit that something about being here with Crowley was growing on him. He… he cared about this scary, ridiculous creature in a way he wasn’t sure he understood.

Ezra laughed. His whole life, he’d stayed free of amorous entanglement, devoting himself entirely to his books and his writing and his friends and his students – and now, NOW he was finally developing romantic feelings for a magical Fae creature who he could have little hope of ever truly understanding?

It was beyond crazy.

\--

Lord Crowley paced in his rooms, idly picking up and putting down bits and bobs from his desk and shelves. He picked up the bottle that held the spriggan who had threatened Ezra and turned up the temperature a notch or two inside to keep it from getting too comfortable, then put it down discontentedly. Let the spriggan rot for a few decades. He had other things to think about.

Namely Ezra, and his growing obsession with him. He’d checked and rechecked the both of them; there were no enchantments at play, either his own or his meddling sister’s, or anyone else’s that he could detect. That would have been just like Griane, to dangle a tempting plaything under his nose and then subtly ensure he was helplessly enamored of the creature within the span of a single breath. He made a mental note of this idea for future use, actually. It was a good one.

But no, if he were left with no outside forces to blame, he was forced to lay the blame in the only remaining place – at the feet of his own treacherous heart.

Romantic liaisons were not unheard of in the Fae world; Fae loved and hated just like their human counterparts, if not, some would say, more truly – their passions tended to be slow to ignite but much more durable, easily lasting for centuries. But within the courts it was hard to find a true alliance, no matter the attraction – so many layers of intrigue and politics and plotting and shifting power structures were difficult to surmount, and it was difficult to fully love and expose yourself to another when you could never be sure of their true reasons for wanting you.

When Crowley turned this same critical eye to his own developing feelings for Ezra he found – nothing at all, no intrigue, no politics, no plots. He just found a growing infatuation with this absurd, surprising human who knew more than he should, stood up to him when he shouldn’t, and had somehow cracked his defenses.

He liked Ezra, he realized. It had been quite some time since he’d genuinely liked anyone, other than the begrudging affection he felt for Beelzebub and his sister. It was an intriguing sensation, being interested in another person’s thoughts and feelings and motivations. And it didn’t hurt that the person in question was rather pleasant to look at, too.

Crowley shook his head and came to a decision. If they were going to have a relationship, it would have to be based on something other than their current prisoner-jailor dynamic.

He would look into securing the human his freedom, he decided. But he would also do his best to convince him to want to stay.

Decision made, he set about planning his next move. 


	11. Deepening Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The relationship between Lord Crowley and Ezra deepens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the other half of what used to be one very long chapter ten. Enjoy!

Now that Crowley had decided to woo the human, he had to play it carefully – there would be no rushing this, he knew. He began by reviewing what he already knew about Ezra and his weak spots. Sweets, for sure, he thought. He’d never seen a human so quick to abandon his better judgment when faced with a lovely dessert. Wine, to an almost equal amount. Wit, for certain; the mortal abhorred stupidity, that was clear. He seemed to be moved by beauty, although he was oddly impartial to titles and power.

He leaned back and thought for a minute, then added “debate” to the list. No one who wasn’t at least slightly turned on by verbal sparring argued as much as Ezra, Crowley thought. Whatever the truth of it, he had the sense to keep this observation to himself. 

With these things in mind, Lord Crowley began to lay the foundation.

\--

“I got you something,” Lord Crowley said at breakfast a few days later.

“Oh?” Ezra said, looking up with delight.

 _Presents_ , Crowley thought to himself. _Not just sweets, but presents_. He added that to the mental list of things his human clearly couldn’t help himself around. It was a list he hoped to continue compiling for quite some time.

He shook himself back to the moment at hand.

“Indeed,” the Prince said, reaching into the air beside him with a flourish and suddenly, out of nowhere, a book appeared.

Ezra sucked in a breath. “Is that – is that a book? In – in English? Or Greek, even, or Latin? Or even French, if necessary – of course I’d prefer the other three, but still, I’ll take -- ”

“It is, indeed,” Crowley broke in. He handed it over, noting the reverence with which Ezra handled it. He held it as if it were a priceless treasure, running one finger over the cover and then down the spine, appreciating the fine leather and scroll work, then raising it to his nose for a quick scent before even looking to see what the title was.

“David Copperfield!” he breathed. “Oh, it’s a classic. One of the best!”

Crowley frowned. “You’ve read it before?”

Ezra smiled reassuringly at him. “Oh, my dear, having read it before in _no way_ lessens the delight of having it here to read again!” He opened the cover gently and carefully, as if it might dissolve, and ran his finger down the title page as if reading by touch. “Oh, I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed having a book to read! All those books and scrolls in your records room, and all I can do is look at the pictures, like a child…”

Crowley mentally kicked himself. Ezra was a teacher of stories. Of _course_ he must have been desperately missing having stories of his own to read. He made a mental note to track down the pixie who had provided this one and get more. Lots more.

“Well, then,” Crowley said, “if you’re going to start collecting books, you’re going to need somewhere to put them, aren’t you?” He waved a hand again and a bookshelf appeared, tucked tidily in next to the desk.

Ezra leapt to his feet and made for a moment as if he was going to hug him.

“Oh –” he said, then stopped. “I can’t say thank you!! How can I possibly not thank you when you’ve done something so perfectly wonderful?”

Crowley sighed and braced himself. “Just this one time,” he said long-sufferingly. “Just for you. If you tell no one and promise never to repeat it.”

Ezra smiled and laid a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Oh, my dear,” he said softly. “ _Thank_ you so much.”

“All right, all right,” Crowley said, embarrassed. “That’s enough of that. Now, let’s talk about the rest of our day.”

\--

For several weeks, Ezra kept finding new and thoughtful additions to his room and surroundings. One day he’d find a new inkpot on his desk that he knew hadn’t been there the day before. The next there’d be a stack of fresh parchment in the records room where he hadn’t expected to find it, or a jug of a wine he’d particularly liked chilling in the area where he liked to read. Various things he expressed enthusiasm for – particular berries he’d never seen on Earth, or a cheese he’d particularly waxed poetic over – would start showing up more frequently at meals.

He felt warmed by each of these things – and he carefully tried to let Crowley know he appreciated them _without_ thanking him. Instead, he tried to show his appreciation by being good company – finding funny tales to tell the Prince, showing his happiness in the things Crowley was doing for him, listening when he wanted to talk.

Over the course of those weeks of little gifts and increasing thoughtfulness, Ezra found himself trying to touch Crowley just a little bit more, almost as if by accident. He let their fingers brush when they were passing glasses back and forth. He would occasionally punctuate a point he was making by reaching over to lay a hand on the Prince’s arm. So far, Crowley had utterly failed to startle away, which was delightful. And then there was a pivotal moment on a couch one night when he subtly and slowly let his knee drift over and touch Crowley’s.

The Prince tried to play it cool and act like he didn’t notice, but Ezra was sure that he had. It wasn’t like the electricity he felt from it was running in only one direction. He was positive of that. 

\--

When Crowley showed up that night for their evening meal, Ezra noted he was dressed differently than usual. Instead of his customary black pants and shirt, he wore a more flowy top in what looked like a dark purple silk. It tied loosely in the front, revealing a bit of his chest, and was rolled up at the sleeves. It looked, he was surprised to find himself thinking, very nice.

“You, uh, changed your clothes!” he murmured, then turned away to mentally bash his head against a wall. Very suave, Ezra, he thought. Very suave.

“I’m known to do that from time to time,” Lord Crowley drawled, sounding amused.

“Yes, quite so,” Ezra said, mastering his facial expression enough to turn around and face the Prince again.

Crowley smiled at him, the kind of open and unclouded smile that Ezra had rarely seen on his face. “Let’s eat in my quarters today,” he said, holding out a welcoming hand. “I’ve got a lovely dining area you’ve never even seen.”

Ezra smiled and took the offered hand and allowed himself to be swept out of the room. 

\--

Crowley led him through the office he’d previously been admitted to, directly towards a blank wall behind the gold desk and throne, where he made a complicated hand gesture and stood back to watch as the wall slowly shimmered and formed an arch to let them pass through into what he assumed was the rest of the Prince’s home. They stepped through and Ezra turned for a moment to watch the wall reform behind him.

“Very secure,” he said, impressed.

“To some degree,” Crowley said. “But many Fae can materialize wherever they wish. Let’s just say there are _other_ defenses on these rooms. They are quite difficult to enter without permission.”

No wonder, Ezra thought to himself, that having my face suddenly show up in the air in front of him was so alarming.

“Coming?” Crowley said, stepping forward. Ezra shook himself out of his reverie and followed down a long concrete hallway, through an enormous flat panel of rock that somehow spun on its central axis to admit them into a large, open room that appeared to be the beginning of his private apartments. They were still deceptively simple in décor, but not as severe as his outer office – instead of bare stone walls, these rooms were lined in soft fabrics in black and gray and tasteful statues and pieces of art. The furniture was still spare and somewhat severe, with most of the potential seating areas looking a tad uncomfortable. He could make out a lounging area and a kitchen from where he was, with a glimpse of a dining room beyond, but no sign of a bedroom.

Lord Crowley led him to the alcove and pulled out a chair for him in front of a glossy black dining table. They dined on some kind of exquisite soup, with the lightest, sweetest bread he had ever tasted and large chunks of honey comb, and then Crowley brought out a kind of dessert that looked like a large golden sphere made out of sugar, with something like small round cakes inside.

“It’s a fairy nest,” he said, pushing one plate towards Ezra.

Ezra made an appreciative gasp and admired it from all sides before carefully cracking one side to work his way in for the cakes.

“I’d like to know your name,” Crowley said as he watched Ezra enjoy the dessert. “I know you haven’t told it to me yet.”

Ezra blinked, and put his spoon down uncertainly. “I have not been untruthful; my friends know me as Ezra. It is not what I was christened, I will grant you, but that name is no longer who I am.”

Crowley frowned and leaned forward, intent but not threatening.

“And yet I wish to know it,” he said quietly.

Ezra considered him closely. “What use would you make of it?” he asked. “What purpose does it serve you?”

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “Curiosity only,” he said. “Although the temptation to occasionally command you to behave less foolishly would be severe, I do admit.”

Ezra grinned in spite of himself. “Ah, but then I would not be the human you have come to know and love.”

They both froze, letting that comment blossom and reverberate between them.

“Er, in a manner of speaking, of course,” Ezra hastily corrected.

“If you won’t tell me your true name,” Crowley mused, “then I must name you myself. I can no longer call you by a false name in these halls.” He considered Ezra closely. “You remind me of a creature I met once, long ago. He was … fluffy, like you, and white, and strange. Handled a sword well, as I recall.”

Ezra made a face. “I’m not sure I like this description.”

“Yes,” said Crowley, ignoring his comment entirely. “I will call you Angel.”

Ezra, having learned something after all in his time in the courts of Fae, chose to hold his thoughts on this matter to himself.

\--

The rest of the evening passed quietly. After dinner, they moved to one of the couches, and the Prince opened several bottles of wine, which they sampled their way through while making witty conversation.

Most of the bottles, Ezra observed, appeared to be vintages from the human world. He leaned forward to take a closer look. He picked up one of the bottles and read the back of it, then looked up, aghast.

“Crowley!” he gasped. “Do you know what this is worth? This bottle is quite literally priceless.”

Crowley shrugged. “Well you know, the advantage of being essentially immortal is that you have a long time to collect the good stuff.”

Ezra gaped at him. “Still!” he stammered. “You could buy a castle for what this would sell for.”

Crowley shushed him. “I already have a castle,” he said. “Now are you going to have a glass or do I have to make you?”

Ezra happily poured them both a goblet, and when he sat back he discovered Crowley had shifted much closer to him, his arm now slung along the back of the sofa behind him. He found himself leaning into the warmth of it and blushing furiously.

“Angel,” Crowley said in a low voice he had not encountered before. “I must tell you that my feelings towards you have taken a turn for the unexpected.”

“Oh?” Ezra said feebly, finding his eyes glued to his wine glass.

The Prince lightly brushed a hand over the back of Ezra’s neck, eliciting a shiver. “You must have noticed,” he said. “I’ve seen how you blush. Do I frighten you?”

Ezra, never one to be cowed for long, took a deep draught of his drink for courage, then turned to face the Unseelie Lord next to him. “You don’t frighten me, my Lord.”

A smile broke out on Crowley’s face. “Now you ‘my Lord’ me, human? You’ve refused to use my title for weeks and now you pull that out of your bag of tricks?”

And with that, he leaned in and kissed him, softly at first, waiting until he felt Ezra relax beneath his touch, and then with increasing intensity. Ezra found his hands coming up of their own accord to splay against Lord Crowley’s chest. The Prince’s arm coiled around his waist and pulled him closer and Ezra found one of his hands curled in Crowley’s flame-colored hair, grasping tight. 

Crowley broke contact and leaned back, and Ezra took him in – pupils blown wide, hair in disarray, spots of color high in his cheeks.

“All right?” the Prince asked gently, eyes moving over Ezra’s face.

“Quite!” Ezra squeaked out, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Quite all right. And you?”

“Oh,” Crowley said, with a smile. “I am decidedly not all right. I am not at all right.”

Ezra smiled in return and raised a brave hand to cup his face. “Well let me see if I can assist, then, shall I?”

Lord Crowley allowed himself to be drawn in again, and this time he did not pull away.

\--

No one saw either Lord Crowley or Ezra for several days thereafter. If the absence was noted by the court at large, none dared discuss it in louder than a whisper. The only ones who might have had some gossip to offer were the redcaps the Prince used as his personal servants in his quarters, and none in the Dark Court was foolish enough to ask them what their lord was up to.

It was a good way to find one’s belly slit open.

Behind pillars, inside caves, in dark and dismal corners, the members of the court whispered to each other. What, they wondered, had the human done to the Prince now? Had he been caught fighting again and was currently being tortured for his disobedience? Had he been injured in some way and the Prince was busy mending him? Or could it be that they had turned a different corner?

They formed theories, and shared notes, and the rumors swirled like leaves in the wind.

\--

Ezra wrapped a bedsheet around himself and watched as Crowley strode across the room to relight the fire. Crowley was long and lean and so beautiful it nearly took his breath away. Ezra was almost frightened by the intensity of what he was feeling; they had been in this room for several days and it was all he could do to tear himself away. He felt suddenly vulnerable in a way he didn’t completely understand.

“I can hear you thinking from over here,” Crowley called back over his shoulder as he poked the logs. “Out with it.”

“I must ask,” Ezra said, uncertain of his word choice. “Have you enchanted me in any way?”

Crowley stiffened, his back still turned, and then sighed. “No,” he said, turning to face Ezra and looking almost hurt. “I have not. Why do you ask?”

“Well – I –” Ezra stopped and tried to collect his thoughts. “I just – wanted to be sure,” he finished weakly.

Why had he asked, he wondered. On the one hand, Crowley had given him no cause to think he might be operating under enchantment. He’d certainly been open and honest with him lately, however they began. But then again he thought, looking around him, how could he _not_ ask? He was in Fae, in the Dark Court, in the center of fields and webs of magics he couldn’t see or understand, and he’d barely been out of this room in a week. He’d have to be a fool not to at least consider whether he was acting under his own free will, and he was trying to be less of a fool than he had been when he had stumbled down the hill.

Crowley walked over and sat rather heavily on the edge of the bed. “Well,” he said quietly, echoing Ezra’s thoughts, “how could you not ask? I am, after all, the Prince of Unseelie. Who would trust me?”

Ezra, reading quite clearly the quiet hurt the Prince was trying not to reveal, sat up and wrapped his arms around Crowley from behind, pressing himself against his back and laying his head on his shoulderblade.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I know you aren’t enchanting me. I’m sorry.”

Lord Crowley let himself be comforted.

\--

Several days later, Crowley headed out to regain control of his affairs of court, and Ezra made time to sit down again with Hastur and Ligur, at their request.

“Okay, okay, I have a new one for you,” Ligur said. “We heard that humans are scared of these creatures called clowns.” He looked at Hastur for support.

“Yeah, apparently clowns are fearsome creatures who attend kids’ birthday parties and eat the guests if appropriate sacrifices are not made,” Hastur said. “Have you ever seen one?”

“Well not as such –” Ezra began.

“Yeah!” cried Ligur. “We can do that!” He leaned down and covered up his face with his hands, murmuring something, and then revealed with a dramatic flourish – a horrifying bastardization of the beloved Bozo the Clown, with the familiar round nose and white face paint, but with the addition of long fangs and dripping gashes where his eyes used to be.

Ezra, completely without pretense, jumped back and nearly knocked over his chair.

Ligur and Hastur high-fived.

“That – that’s quite good,” Ezra stammered, righting his chair and having a seat. “Rather terrifying. You should definitely keep that one.”

“All right, all right, my turn,” Hastur shouted, hitting his dirty, gloved fist on the table with a bang that released a small cloud of dust and spores. “Check this out. I was doing some research and it said two of the most common fears people on Earth have are spiders and being laughed at. So, I put the two together and created – this!”

With a flourish, he transformed into a gigantic, black hairy spider that perched with a sense of thinly coiled violence on top of the table. Ezra made a disgusted face and leaned back away from it, even knowing that it was Hastur. All those creepy black legs, each nearly as long as his arm, were bad enough but then? What happened next was even more hideous.

The spider began to giggle.

It was a high-pitched giggle, verging on the edge of shrill. At first it was small, but the noise grew and grew until the spider was all but shrieking with hysterical and oddly girlish-sounding laughter. Ezra laughed back at first, but then found it more and more disturbing. Eventually both he and Ligur backed away silently, looking across the table at each other in dismay.

Ligur leaned over and whapped the spider on its gigantic head. “Stoppit!” he shouted. “Change back!”

A second later, Hastur was cross legged on top of the table, still hiccupping a little with laughter. He shook himself to get the hysteria back under control, then he grinned expectantly.

“So? So?” he asked, turning to each of them. “What did you think?”

“I have to say…” Ezra paused to think. “I wasn’t sure at first, but that was unexpectedly disturbing. If I ran into a spider like that, it would haunt me. Literally. For years.”

Hastur wiped a tear, whether it was from laughter or another emotion, from one of his dark, rimless eyes. “Oh, now,” he demurred. “You flatter me.”

Lord Crowley chose that moment to appear from behind one of the bookcases.

“This?” he said. “This is what you three miscreants are doing in here when I’m not around?”

Hastur and Ligur jumped to attention at the first sight of their liege. “Lord Crowley!” Hastur said. “Uh, how long have you been there?”

“Long enough to see you as a spider,” Crowley said, his expression unreadable.

“Your – your – Ezra has just been helping us with our research,” Ligur said. “Shall we be going, then? I think we’ll go.”

The two Fae bowed, scraped, and beat it as fast as was magically possible, and Ezra grinned up at Crowley from his seat at the table.

“You really shouldn’t frighten them so much, my dear,” he chided gently. “They’re so eager to please.”

Crowley tutted. “They are not,” he said. “They’re vile, awful beasts. You have no idea.”

But he was smiling, Ezra noted. And then he leaned down to kiss him, and he stopped thinking about Hastur and Ligur all together.

\--

Crowley sat down at breakfast and looked serious.

“Tonight,” he said, “I’m going to be away. Most of us will be away.”

“What for?” Ezra asked. “You’re not at war again, are you?”

Crowley smiled. “No, no, nothing like that. It’s a – kind of like a holiday for the Fae. We have to go aboveground for the night, from moonrise to sunrise. There’s – a revel, I think you would call it.”

Ezra’s insides clenched up a little. Earth? They were going to Earth? He was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see it for himself. He was shocked to realize he had no idea how long it had been.

“Crowley,” he said, leaning forward urgently. “You have to take me with you.”

The Prince frowned. “I can’t, angel,” he said. “It’s a very dangerous night for mortals. Anyone found outdoors and in the wrong place on this night at certain hours are plagued by all manner of beasts and demons. You would literally be torn apart if you were to go up among us.”

“No one would dare harm me,” Ezra pouted. “They know better.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “They should,” he said. “But this is one of the only nights of the year that they are freed from all restriction. The hoards of Unseelie run wild this night, for just a few hours. And then there are the trooping fae, who aren’t aligned with either court – they owe me no allegiance and are highly unpredictable.”

Ezra narrowed his eyes. “And what will _you_ be doing during all of this revelry?”

“Nothing,” he answered, surprised. “Believe me. My role in this is to stand back and let the hordes run, and then to bring them back to their senses before sunrise and return them home.”

Ezra frowned. “You’re not going to, oh I don’t know, eat some poor schoolchild or turn an old woman into a newt or –“ he tried to sound casual and failed “– kidnap yourself another human are you?”

Crowley blinked, then blinked again, then leaned in very, very close. “Why angel,” he said, a smile toying at his lips. “Are you _jealous_?”

Ezra huffed. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” He looked at his nonexistent watch and stood up. “What do you know, I must be going.”

They both knew each and every word of this was a lie.

They both pretended valiantly that this wasn’t so as he stalked out of the room and went back to his quarters.

\--

Crowley knocked on his door what seemed like a few hours later, then strolled in without giving him time to answer.

“I’m on my way up, angel,” he said, peering about the room to find Ezra and finally locating him sitting near the fire with the David Copperfield book on his lap. “Still cross?”

“No, of course I’m not cross,” Ezra said crossly. “Why would I be?”

“Why indeed,” Crowley said, coming over to lay a hand on his shoulder and lean down to examine what he was reading. Ezra shivered a little at the touch.

“Come see me when you return?” Ezra asked.

Crowley crouched and entwined their hands together. “I will,” he said, kissing him gently. “You can count on it.”

And with that, he was off.


	12. Cataclysm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A foolish moment undoes everything. Neither is sure how to move forward after.

Ezra found his mood irredeemably off with Crowley away. He was alone, he was frustrated, and he suddenly found himself consumed with thoughts of Earth. How long _had_ he been away? What was happening with his students and his friends? Were people looking for him? He’d been so wrapped up with his developing relationship with Crowley for the last month that he’d thought about home much, much less.

Was he losing touch with his humanity? He wondered. He’d heard that people who returned from Fae encounters were often changed from them, sometimes unrecognizable. Was something about the essential nature of being here changing him, turning his thoughts from home?

Once he started thinking of it, he could think of little else.

He tried to keep his thoughts away from Crowley’s role in this, but his dissatisfaction with being left behind didn’t allow this for long. Crowley had outright refused to take him along to Earth. Hadn’t even been willing to consider it. Why? Why couldn’t he protect him enough for him to get a glimpse of home? Was there some other reason he didn’t want Ezra to go?

Of course, the trouble with distrust is that once you let it get a foothold, it’s hard to reel it back. The thoughts continued to spiral. Did he really have good reason to trust Lord Crowley? Yes, he’d been kind to him, and yes, they’d become close. But what did he really know about him and what he did in the many hours a day he was away from Ezra? Their new physical relationship had been intoxicating and sweet, but how did Ezra even know that Crowley was devoting all of his attentions to him?

He had begun pacing the room without even thinking about it. Even his current state of discontent made him suspicious – was he only feeling this way because Crowley and whatever magics he had at his disposal were temporarily removed from this sphere?

Ezra was suddenly overcome with the need to know _exactly_ what Crowley was doing right now. It gripped his insides like a vice, this sharp, acidic suspicion and, he had to admit, jealousy. It curled long fingers into him and squeezed everything it found there, distilling it into a dismal black pool of focus. He needed to do something to make himself less powerless here.

His eye fell on the washbasin in the corner, and a terrible idea dawned on him with crystalline clarity.

\--

Lord Crowley sat on his gigantic black steed and watched in distaste as the legions of Unseelie unspooled into revelry. On this night, both Seelie and Unseelie called a truce and met for a gathering at one of the old portal sites in Ezra’s world. For a few hours, there was dancing and singing and carousing, and of course, random mischief or favors given out to any mortals foolish enough to venture out of doors at such a time.

While he watched, his mind kept slipping to Ezra, as it did whenever he didn’t discipline himself to disallow it. They’d been fumbling their way through the beginnings of a relationship for some time now, learning each other’s joys and pleasures, slowly opening up. It had been delightful and absorbing, and like nothing he’d felt in recent memory. Still, he hadn’t forgotten his promise to begin looking into how to release the human from the bonds holding him here. He needed to attend to that promise, and soon.

Good as things were between them, he had the sense that the trappings of this situation were holding them back. It wasn’t so much the mortal vs. Fae issue; rather, it was that Ezra was still essentially a prisoner in the world of Fae, still trapped by the wine and food he’d consumed with Lady Griane, unable to return home without assistance. He was completely dependent on Lord Crowley for his existence, sustenance, and protection at court. Crowley wasn’t used to thinking about the feeling of others – he found it quite tiresome, actually – but even he had to admit that this probably wasn’t the best foundation for a relationship. And, he’d come to realize, a relationship was apparently what he was desiring. Not just a series of amorous encounters.

He was going to have to do something about this. With that in mind, he strode off to see if he could find his sister in the crowd.

\--

Ezra wracked his brain to remember how Anathema had had him prepare for scrying. He needed a basin of clear water, which he had on the washstand – and what else? Ink? Luckily he had a fresh pot of that on hand, which he grabbed off the writing table. He mixed in a few drops until it took on the midnight shade he remembered from the time with Anathema. It seemed like such a long time ago, now. He didn’t have anything silver to stir with, so he used his hand instead, three times clockwise as he remembered it, and then he took a deep breath and leaned in.

 _Calm your breathing_ , he remembered Anathema saying, so he tried. He took deep and slow breaths, blinking his eyes and softening his focus to look deep into the pool of water in front of him, and he set his intention as clearly as he could.

 _Show me Crowley_. _Show me what Crowley is doing. Show me him, right now._

\--

Crowley emerged from Griane’s tent after having had a lengthy private chat with her feeling rather pleased with himself. After some rather painful and stunning concessions which he would break the news of to his lieutenants later, he’d been able to negotiate and secure the charm needed to release Ezra’s initial binding. He tucked the small gem away inside his breast pocket headed back through the revelry to where he’d left his horse, on the edge of the gathering under a large oak tree. The dryad he’d left holding the reins returned them to him and drifted back off to the party with her flowing, earthy gait. He watched her go, then turned to attend to his horse.

He was grooming her rather thoroughly when every hair on his body began to tingle and he had the sudden sense of being watched. Crowley gathered his powers in the palm of his hand and turned around ready to strike only to be met with – a scrying window?

He leaned forward and peered into it. It couldn’t be.

Sure enough, a pair of sky-blue eyes were peering at him out of the middle of the opening, with the white fluffy hair he knew so intimately arrayed around it. Ezra’s face wobbled indistinctly in the watery surface of the window, but he could tell in an instant that it was him.

“Ezra?” he hissed leaning in. “What in the ever-living fuck are you doing? Are you all right?”

There had better be an extremely good reason for this, he thought.

\--

Ezra gasped as Crowley came into quick focus on the flat water in front of him. The picture this time, perhaps from being generated in Faerie instead of across worlds, was very clear – he could see Crowley standing alone next to a large black horse. The surroundings were dark and lit by what looked like torchlight, but he could make out the surface of a tree trunk behind him, and he could see very clearly when he snapped his head around to look directly into the portal and into his eyes. He couldn’t make out the sound when Crowley’s lips moved, but he could see that his expressions morphed from concerned to furious rather quickly.

“Shit!” Ezra said, breaking contact with the basin and reaching a hand down to muss up the water a bit. “Shit, shit, shit.” This had not been a good idea at all. He looked around for somewhere to dash the liquid into, but lacking a drain of any kind he decided to just leave it as it was, and he retreated to the far side of the room to wait nervously for whatever reckoning was coming.

\--

He didn’t have long to wait. Less than two hours later he heard footsteps in the hall and the door crashed open, banging hard into the wall. Lord Crowley strode in, still in his travelling clothes. The cape he’d worn above ground swirled around him as he rounded on Ezra where he sat on the edge of the bed. He practically crackled with electricity and Ezra could tell he was very, very angry.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Crowley said, his voice tightly controlled.

“I – I tried scrying again.”

Crowley looked around the room and located the basin, its contents now darkened with ink. He walked over and picked the basin up, quickly dashing it to the ground where it shattered. Ezra jumped.

“Just playing, were you?” Crowley growled.

Ezra swallowed. “I – I was curious what you were doing, and it occurred to me that – that I could – I’m sorry -- ”

“That you could SPY on me?” Crowley shouted. “And what’s all this you’ve been telling me about how you don’t really know how to scrye, your friend just showed you that one time and you doubt you could ever do it again if you really wanted to?”

“I don’t think I quite said all of that, but it’s true, it was just the one –”

“LIAR!” Lord Crowley shouted, and it felt for a moment like the stones reverberated with his anger.

Ezra called on every ounce of his stubbornness to avoid shrinking back. “I tried it from memory,” he said. “I haven’t done it since that first time.”

“What were you hoping to discover, human?” Crowley said, his face a mask of displeasure. “My secrets? Were you hoping to find me in a compromising situation? Were you – were you looking for something else?”

“No, I asked it to show me you, what you were doing,” Ezra assured him. “I was just – I just – I don’t know how to explain it.”

Crowley prowled the room restlessly, touching things here and there. “You were interfering,” he said, “in my business. For whatever reason, that’s what it comes down to. What was it, Ezra? Distrust? Treachery?” He paused. “Jealousy?”

Ezra colored. “Not treachery,” he admitted. He stared at the wall as the other two sank in.

Crowley sat down heavily in a dining chair. “I suggest,” he said with terrible urgency, “that you speak plainly, Ezra, as I am close to my breaking point. If there’s anything you can say to explain why you took this action and broke my trust, please do so.”

Ezra tried to gather his thoughts. “I was upset about you going up to Earth,” he said, "and it got me thinking. About how I hardly even think about it anymore. It scared me a little, and I started wondering if I was really my own person here, or if I was losing touch with myself.”

He looked at Crowley, who looked displeased, but made a go ahead gesture.

“And, I suppose, I was a bit jealous of you being up there without me, and I started thinking – well, desperate things, things that made me doubt you. Doubt as to whether you were being up front with me, doubt about whether you were actually as you seem to be.” He swallowed. “I doubted you. And suddenly I needed – no, I wanted to know exactly where you were and what you were doing.”

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And it occurred to me that I could look. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Crowley looked up at him and his eyes were still cold. “I’m going to ask you this once and only once. If you deceive me, I will know instantly.”

Ezra nodded. Crowley stood up and came to tower over him, making fierce eye contact.

“Have you scryed to be in touch with any other creatures since you arrived here?”

“No,” Ezra said with simple dignity, meeting the prince’s eyes.

“Have you been seeking out ways to contact your world?”

“I have not.”

“Have you been spying on me in any other way?”

Ezra sighed. “No, of course not.”

Crowley sighed and returned to pacing the room. He stopped at the desk and stared hard at the notebook. Ezra watched the wheels turning in his head as his face darkened with a fresh round of suspicions.

“What,” the Prince asked, “is this?”

“It’s my notebook.” Ezra said. “I write in it, and sketch.”

“For what purpose?”

“For entertainment. To help me remember things. To help sort things out that are troubling me.”

Crowley eyed him, and then picked it up flipped it open. He turned through a few pages and stopped, tapping the page accusingly with a gloved finger.

“Dear Anathema?” he read, his voice rising again. “You write letters to your witch friend in here?”

Ezra frowned, now angry himself. “That’s really none of your business, your Lordship.”

Crowley frowned right back at him. “It most certainly is. How do you send them to her? Have you been using the basin to transmit letters somehow? How much have you told her?”

Ezra sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not a magic notebook! I just wrote them because she’s my friend and I was lonely.”

“Likely story,” Crowley muttered. “You’ll excuse me if I find it difficult to believe you right now.”

Ezra stood up and held out his hand for the notebook, which the Prince stubbornly held onto. “Give it to me,” he snapped. “It’s mine. You have NO right.”

“Everything here belongs to me, human!” Crowley yelled.

“Not me,” Ezra shouted back. “Not me, not my belongings! Give it back to me.”

The tone of command seemed to be the final straw.

Lord Crowley appeared to almost grow taller as he practically vibrated with rage and distrust. He glared at Ezra, then picked up the notebook and, without breaking eye contact, ripped it in half straight down the spine. Ezra gasped as loose pages fluttered to the floor.

“You –” he stuttered at Crowley, his eyes bright with angry tears. “You’re horrible! How could you –”

“You have broken my trust!” Crowley shouted, unable to stop himself. “The Fae do not forgive that!”

He turned and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

\--

Ezra swore explosively as Crowley slammed out, then fell to his knees and began gathering up the pages of his butchered notebook. An empty section towards the back was still largely intact, but most of the pages floated loosely in a disorganized mess on the floor, his handwriting scattered across various pages with all semblance of order lost. He carefully sorted them out, stacking them and lovingly putting the letters back together as best he could, and then tucked them into the small drawer in the writing desk. He left the remaining empty pages that were still attached to the back cover out on top.

In case he wanted to write an angry note, he thought. Or a list of wrongdoings. Or, even, an apology.

At a loss, he then carefully picked up the sharp pieces of the broken basin, which he piled in a corner, and mopped up the water and ink as well as he could, and then – then he sat down heavily, thinking dark and angry thoughts.

He could understand Lord Crowley being angry, he truly could. He’d overstepped. Scrying on him was a ridiculous idea and he felt badly about having done it, and he’d expected some yelling and recrimination to come from his actions. But – but – to come into his room and break his things and rip up his notebook, one of the few things he owned from his time on earth?

The Fae, as far as he could tell, were gigantic children, used to having their own way and throwing ridiculous tantrums when someone crossed them. It was – it was like dealing with his students, he thought angrily. Except even they seemed to have more practice at regulating their emotions than the Prince did.

Sitting wasn’t working. Ezra got up and began to pace. Then he decided to go to the records room, and found his door was locked.

“I think I have been broken up with,” he said, before kicking the door once for good measure.

\--

Lord Crowley stormed into his room and tore off his cape and gloves, throwing them savagely on the floor, and then, just for fun, he set about breaking every breakable thing he could find to pick up in his bedroom. He hurled pitchers and glasses at the walls, snapped frames in half, and finally, frantic in his need to destroy something further, he kicked a bedside table until one of its legs snapped off and it fell over with a thump.

This left him feeling no better, and with a sore foot to boot.

“I am done with humans!” he shouted at the walls. “Do you hear me? I’m done with him!”

The walls looked back at him in a way he found rather accusatory.

“He betrayed my trust! Acting like he had no idea how to scrye when really he’s quite proficient in it. Writing these – treacherous letters!” he shouted at the curtains. “Who knows how he’s been betraying me!”

The curtains looked unimpressed. He turned his anger instead towards the bed. The elaborate, sumptuous four poster bed that was still rumpled and misshapen from when he and Ezra had left it this morning.

“What are you looking at?” he shouted at the blankets. He moved to tear them from the bed but found, at the last second, that he couldn’t touch them – his hands withdrew of their own accord like the linens might burn him. Instead, he threw himself into the one chair he hadn’t destroyed or covered in broken glass and conjured himself a bottle of deep, dark wine. He uncorked it and began drinking rather seriously, straight from the bottle, while he brooded.

A redcap, clearly terrified (and that was a feat worth recording, terrifying a redcap), peeked in on him a few minutes later. “Do you – need assistance, my Lord?” it croaked.

He threw the empty bottle at it and it beat a hasty retreat through the servant portal in the hallway .

He then conjured himself a second bottle and got to work on it as well.

\--

Several days went by and Ezra heard nothing from Lord Crowley. His door remained solidly locked, and his only contact came when the redcaps appeared with food at regular intervals; otherwise he had no interaction with another living being at all. This was fine with him for a day or two, but as his anger began to cool, he found himself feeling a host of contradictory things.

“Have you seen Lord Crowley?” he asked one of the redcaps on the third day.

The creature grunted at him and didn’t even grace him with a look. It set down his tray, sketched an entirely mocking little bow, and disappeared through a portal near the door.

He sat down heavily and began to eat. And as he ate, he thought about his situation.

He was mortified about the scrying. What had he been thinking? Trust hadn’t come easily between them, and in that one moment, he’d undone much of their progress; he couldn’t blame the Prince for being angry. He was, he realized, quite the idiot. He wished he could apologize.

And angry as he had been about the destruction of his notebook and the imperious way Crowley had thrown his rage around, he was also devastated at the break between them. He had come to care for Lord Crowley, rather more than he realized. The relationship between them was complicated and new and – and, well, rather intoxicating, and he missed him with a visceral ache.

The Fae don’t forgive, Crowley had said. Could that be true? What he knew from stories made it seem likely to be correct. Stories were full of human-fae affairs ending suddenly, usually because the human had been sworn to secrecy and just couldn’t resist telling one of their friends about their new love. The moment that promise was broken, their love affair died, never to be rekindled.

But… but Crowley was different, wasn’t he? He would come back. He had to come back.

He pushed away the rest of the meal. It was oddly tasteless, and he wasn’t in the mood.

If only, he thought, they could just talk.

\--

“You need to stop it,” Beelzebub snarled into the Prince’s ear as he stood panting heavily on the throne platform in the main audience hall, his hands clenched at his side. “I mean, we like it when you’re evil, but even for you, you’re taking it a bit far, don’t you think?”

Crowley turned on her with a snarl. “You do not direct my behavior,” he said, voice steely. “I’d suggest you back off.”

“You have decapitated your last three petitioners,” Beelzebub pointed out calmly.

Crowley waved a hand, unimpressed. “They’ve already regrown their heads,” he said. “It’s not like it’s permanent.”

“And you made the spriggans fight each other for your amusement.”

Crowley grinned. “Oh now, that was fun. I saw you placing bets.”

Beelzebub shrugged. “There’s a rumor that you killed the human. No one’s seen him for several days.”

Crowley sat down heavily in his throne. “Oh, is there?” he said dryly.

“Lovers spat?” Beelzebub asked, no mockery in their tone.

“More like a cataclysm,” Crowley muttered.

“I – I am sorry to hear it,” Beelzebub said, sounding out the unfamiliar words. Crowley craned his head around to peer at them in confusion. Fae didn’t apologize or show sympathy for each other. What on earth was happening to his court? This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right at all.

Beelzebub wisely left him be after that.

\--

Lord Crowley decided he needed to get out of the Keep and away from everyone’s prying, judging eyes for a while. He strode out through the front gates and summoned his favorite of the firesteeds, then took off at a gallop through the neighboring lands. Dark forest branches tore at his cloak and a sudden rainstorm whipped stinging needles of rain into his eyes and face – and he welcomed it. Anything, anything was better than spending one more second dealing with his _feelings._

He rode as far as the edges of his lands, then dismounted and let his mount graze. He wrapped his cloak around him and stood silently on the ridge marking the borderlands between the Dark and Light courts, brooding.

He fucking _missed_ Ezra. He hated that he missed Ezra. He wanted to be done with him, he wanted to not think about him, but he found himself thinking about him all bloody day long. It poked and prodded at him and gave him not one second’s rest. What was Ezra doing? How was he feeling? Was he sorry? Was he sad? And how in all the powers had everything gotten so fucked up?

He knew he was going to have to talk to him. He knew he couldn’t avoid it much longer.

With a deep and discontented sigh, he took one more look around the edges of his kingdom, and then turned to head back to the castle and deal with his problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my dears - being home on isolation is leaving me with lots and lots of time to write! I am hoping to get two more chapters out pretty soon because I cannot stop thinking about what one of these two says or does next. :) 
> 
> Enjoy and thank you so much for all of your encouraging words both about this story and about my health! I'm doing good! Promise!


	13. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys make up, wounds are healed, and a new difficulty emerges.

Ezra was beginning his morning round of pacing when he heard the door open.

 _Crowley._ Ezra’s breath caught in his chest and he just stared, heart pounding wildly. It was Crowley. Standing there in his usual black, looking uncertain and unsure of himself. They stared at each other mutely for a few moments, neither of them able to figure out how to proceed.

“Can I come in?” Crowley asked, finally.

“Of course,” Ezra croaked, making way. “Please.”

Crowley walked in and took a seat stiffly in one of the two upholstered chairs near the fire, and Ezra tried to read his body posture for clues. He definitely wasn’t in a “throw yourself into my arms and let us whisper our mutual apologies” kind of mood, and he appeared stiff but no longer incandescent with anger. He looked, possibly, receptive to discussion. Ezra supposed that was why he was here. It was a start.

“We should talk,” Crowley began, looking uncomfortable, and gestured to the seat across from him. Ezra joined him.

“May I start?” Ezra asked.

Crowley nodded. He looked tired, Ezra thought, and rather miserable.

Ezra tried in vain to gather his thoughts; he’d thought about what he would say in this moment so many times and now that it was here, he was tongue tied and his brain seemed to have stuttered to a stop. There was so much to talk about, on both sides – but he had decided to begin with his own culpability, as a way to clear the air.

He took a deep breath and began.

“I – I owe you my deepest apologies, Crowley,” he said, quietly. “What I did, spying on you like that, was an immense breach of trust. I can understand why you’re angry. I let my thoughts get away from me and acted rashly.”

“You did,” said Lord Crowley, sharply. “I’m still angry. And yet – you aren’t alone in holding blame here. I behaved badly too. And I have found myself realizing that what you did is very, shall we say, human.”

Ezra blinked. “It was?”

Crowley raised his eyes and met his. “This does not excuse you,” he said. “But it does help me to understand it a bit. I’ve been aware for some time that, as enticing as the relationship between us has been, it’s founded on a very unsteady foundation. It’s not surprising that you’d find trusting me difficult.”

“Because I’m a human and you’re Fae?”

“Because, as we discussed, you’re essentially a prisoner. Such a situation does not lead very naturally towards trust.” Crowley said, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a small velvet bag. He set it on the table, carefully, and pushed it towards Ezra. “Do you know what this is?”

Ezra looked at it, puzzled. “No.”

“Just before you scryed, I met with my sister,” Lord Crowley said, “and negotiated a charm for your freedom. This is that charm.”

Ezra gasped, and was overcome with a wave of fresh remorse. “You were securing my freedom when I was deciding I couldn’t trust you?”

Crowley nodded, his face unreadable.

“What – what did you have to give her to achieve that?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Crowley said. “But it was not insubstantial.”

Ezra blinked at him, horrified.

Crowley kept quiet for a moment. “You may use it,” he finally said, his voice steely, “if you wish.”

Ezra looked up. “What, _now_?”

“If that is your wish,” Crowley said.

“No!” Ezra blurted out. “I mean, I’m glad to have it. I’m so unbelievably grateful to you for having gotten it! But… I don’t want to go, not right now! Not with all of this the way that it is, between us!” He sighed. “You matter to me! I – I care for you. I want to try to work this out.”

Something softened in Lord Crowley’s face for the first time, and a bit of the tension went out of his shoulders.

“I – I would like this as well,” Crowley replied.

Ezra reached out and pushed the velvet bag back towards the Prince. “Keep this for me, please,” he said. “We will figure out when and how to use it and in what measure, later.”

Crowley nodded and tucked it away. “I – I am not skilled at discussing my feelings,” he said. “I have little practice in such matters.”

Ezra offered him a partial smile. “Perhaps I should pour you a drink, then?”

Crowley considered him, and then smiled back. “That would probably be a good idea.”

\--

“Out of curiosity, do you tend to be jealous?” Crowley asked. “I mean – prior to this, in other relationships?”

Ezra colored deeply. “I have not – there have been no other – “ he stopped and ran a hand over his face. “I have not been in a romantic relationship before, my Lord.”

Ezra, Crowley noted, stubbornly refused to call him “My Lord” or “My Prince” except in two circumstances – when he deeply disapproved of something Crowley was doing, or when he was embarrassed or uncomfortable and trying to distance himself from the conversation. It was clear to him which case this was.

“You’ve not had a lover before?” Crowley asked, surprised.

“I have not,” Ezra said.

“You mean to tell me that this is your very first relationship?”

“Yes.”

“ _Ever?”_

Ezra sniffed and stared at him flatly. Clearly this brooked no further response, in his view.

“I am not laughing at you,” Crowley assured him. “I promise. No need to get affronted. I’m just surprised. You are – very desirable.”

Ezra felt his cheeks heat up a little and resisted the urge to fidget. “I’ve never really met anyone who interested me before this.”

No wonder, Crowley thought, that Ezra found it hard to understand or trust these emotions and experiences. He had literally _nothing_ to refer to. How overwhelming it must be, he realized, to find yourself suddenly navigating your first romance, and to be doing it in such a context. It’s hard enough the first time you find yourself enamored when it’s someone of your own _species_ , not to mention with someone a rough approximation of your age and lifestyle. 

“Well that clarifies some things,” the Prince said. “No wonder that you’re finding this all a little difficult.”

Ezra bit out a laugh, and he looked as if he wished he had glasses just so that he could suddenly invent a need to take them off and clean them. He looked anywhere but at Crowley. “Yes,” he said, “lucky you, getting to watch me discover that I’m jealous and untrusting and hopelessly incompetent at this.”

Crowley couldn’t help it; he reached out and took Ezra’s hand in his.

“Angel,” he said softly, “it’s like this for everyone, being with someone new. It’s frightening and full of ups and downs. I can’t tell you that everything you find yourself dealing with in this situation is normal, but that part of it is.”

Ezra rolled his eyes. “That’s very kind of you and all, but I think you’ll find I’m a quick study.”

“Obviously.” Crowley shrugged. “But it’s hard for me too. We’re – very different.”

Ezra hummed. “Perhaps.”

“I have not felt this way for a human before,” Crowley said quietly.

“But there have been other humans?” Ezra asked, trying for nonchalance.

Crowley frowned. “There you go again, green-eyed angel.”

“Oh!” Ezra said, blushing. “Oh yes. Well, you do have a point, there, don’t you? Hrm.”

Crowley hid his smile in his wine glass, and stared into the fire for a moment.

\--

They drank in silence for a while, and it was Ezra who broke the spell this time.

“And then we come to your part in all of this,” Ezra said pointedly.

“Mine?”

“Yes, yours.” Ezra squared his shoulders. “You had every right to be upset at me but to lock me in a room for days on end? And to destroy my notebook? That was brutal. Do you realize that was one of a very small handful of things I have from home?”

Lord Crowley winced. “No, I did not. I didn’t stop to think about it, at the time.”

“That was crushing,” Ezra said quietly. “It’s just a notebook. It has no magical properties. It was just… like a diary.”

“You wrote in it because you were lonely.”

“Something like that,” Ezra said. “At least that’s why I wrote the letters. But I write, even when I’m not lonely. I’m a teacher, and a writer, and a lover of words. I always write things down. Lists, stories, observations. It’s how I make sense of the world.”

Crowley frowned. “I am not proud of my actions.”

Ezra eyed him warily. “That is not enough.”

“Let me see it,” Crowley said, intensely uncomfortable. This process of feeling bad about things was incredibly unpleasant and he wanted to sidestep it entirely. “The notebook.”

Ezra frowned. “Why?”

Crowley looked flustered. “Because I shouldn’t have done that,” he shouted. “Because – because I regret it!”

Ezra blinked. “As far as apologies go,” he said primly, “I get that it’s a new concept to you, but I do believe you aren’t supposed to shout when you’re offering them.”

Crowley ran his hands through his hair and _pulled_. “I told you, I am unpracticed at this,” he snarled.

“You’ve never apologized before? To anyone?”

“Not once.” Crowley tried not to look proud of that fact. He was, a little.

Ezra softened inside but did his best not to let it show; this was his moment to be stern and get his point across. “Then you will have to learn, if you want to be in a relationship with me.” he said. “Try again.”

Crowley visibly struggled, then dropped his hands and looked Ezra fully in the eye. “I- I am sorry,” he said stiffly. “For destroying your notebook. That was… vicious of me.”

“And if we’re going to do this, you can’t just lock me in a room whenever I tick you off,” Ezra said pointedly. “I’m not a toy.”

Crowley nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

“We need to be equals,” Ezra said. “At least when we are alone. I know your court would never see me that way, but I need _you_ to.”

“You have a point.”

“It’s difficult enough to feel like I have any power here,” Ezra said, “without you holding the literal key to my freedom.”

Crowley nodded. “I will try,” he said. “I apologize for locking you in.” 

Ezra relaxed. “I won’t say thank you,” he said, “or you might never attempt that again.”

Crowley frowned. “You’re such a bastard.”

“Twice in one conversation,” Ezra smirked. “That’s a 200% increase in the apologies you’ve offered in your life.”

“Oh be quiet, you infernal human.”

Ezra grinned.

“So,” Crowley said, “can I see it? The notebook?”

Ezra considered for a moment, and then collected the remaining pieces of the notebook from the desk. He brought them over and laid them out in front of Crowley.

Crowley peered at him for a moment, and then carefully picked them up and put the two piles together, then positioned the cover on the front. “Is it in the order you wanted it in?” he asked.

“It is, but you can’t mean –”

“Shush,” Crowley said. “Concentrating.”

He ran a finger down the spine, across the cover, and along the back, and as he did, a hum filled the air and Ezra gasped as he watched the rips bind together. Crowley continued to concentrate for a moment, and then sat up and held the notebook out to Ezra.

“Here we are,” he said. “Mended.”

Ezra took it with shaking hands and examined it carefully. He could see no hint of the prior destruction on it. He looked up and found Crowley watching him closely.

“I am,” the Prince said. “Sorry, that is.”

“I forgive you,” Ezra said, with a smile. He laid down the notebook and turned to the Prince, holding out a hand.

Crowley took it.

\--

Fighting was unpleasant, Lord Crowley thought as he sat at the head of a banqueting table, but making up was ineffably enjoyable. He tried to hide the smile that wanted to break over his face every time he turned to see Ezra seated next to him. Ezra was holding his own, as always, drinking from the goblet in front of him and having an animated discussion with Duke Hastur, who was seated next to him. 

Since their reconciliation, he’d been trying to allow Ezra more freedom, and more access to the court. It was difficult to allow him full and complete independence, as many denizens of and sections of the Dark Keep were literally quite dangerous to him – but within certain restrictions, he had been able to allow Ezra to take a larger part in daily life around the court, and to terrify the worst portions of the court into leaving him entirely alone. It was, he thought with a contented sigh, working out, at least for the moment.

“Your sappiness is showing on your face,” Beelzebub pointed out quietly from his other side. “Check yourself, my Lord.”

Crowley scowled. But then again, Beelzebub was right. If there was one way to put Ezra in real danger, it was to show how lovestruck he was about the human in public. There were always, always at least a few members of the court looking for advantage. Lord Crowley had developed such a reputation for the ruthless overthrow of any attempts on his throne that few tried anymore, but there was no point in showing weakness in public.

“You are the only being who can speak to me like this, you realize,” he snapped at the infernal nuisance who was his lieutenant.

“Perhaps not the only,” Beelzebub said matter-of-factly, eyeing Ezra. “Have you told him?”

“Told him what?”

“You know,” Beelzebub said. “What happens to humans who stay here too long.”

Crowley set down his cup. “No,” he said, deflating. “Do you see signs of it?”

“Not yet,” his companion said. “But you will need to either address it or resign yourself to it soon. His one-year anniversary approaches.”

Crowley studied Ezra, who thankfully remained distracted. He’d been completely honest when he’d told the human that he’d never felt this way before. It wasn't just the romantic feelings – it was both larger and simpler than that. He couldn’t remember ever having really been _happy_ before. And damn it all to the infernal pits, he _was_ happy. And his happiness, it appeared, came with a price that was fast approaching.

Tomorrow, he thought. He would talk to Ezra about it tomorrow. But first, he wanted to enjoy one more night.

\--

“What is it, my dear?” Ezra said that evening, walking up behind the Prince to wrap his arms around him as he stood on the balcony outside his bedchambers. “You’re quiet tonight.”

Crowley turned his gaze from the distant reaches of the cavern in front of him and laid a hand on top of Ezra’s, pulling him closer. “Nothing, love,” he said softly. “Just thinking about you and how much I care for you.”

Ezra eased his way around to the front of Crowley and kissed him softly. “That isn’t supposed to make you glum.”

“I’m not _glum_ ,” Crowley said with a grin, amused by the ridiculous word choice. “I’m perplexed. I’m puzzled by how a fussy, interfering, argumentative human came to mean so much to me in such a short time.”

Ezra grinned. “Perhaps I have magic of my own.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “There was a point at which that statement would have been very worrisome, you realize.”

Ezra laughed, and kissed his love again. “And now you know better,” he said. He reached for Crowley’s hand, the other hand already slipping inside his shirt. “Come. Come inside with me. I have … plans for you.”

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” Crowley said softly. “Because you’re quite talented at it.”

“I’m a quick learner,” Ezra said, before tugging his love inside and down onto the bed. “A savant, you could say.”

“You’re insatiable is what you are.”

Ezra quickly found a way to shut him up.

\--

  
A few hours later, Crowley awoke in the middle of the night. He stretched delightfully and had a look around. The fire had burned nearly down; he snapped his fingers and corrected that. The sheets were rumpled around them and the blankets had long since disappeared off the end of the bed but it was still pleasantly warm. Crowley looked down at the blond head on his shoulder as he ran a hand down the human’s back. Ezra responded by nuzzling in closer.

He felt a wave of overwhelming love and affection, and found to his chagrin that he couldn’t completely repress the thoughts that had been plaguing him.

Crowley sighed. “Angel,” he said. “Wake up.”

“Wh- what?”

“It’s no use,” Crowley said, and Ezra could hear the great reluctance in his voice. “Us, like this. It can’t work.”

Ezra came instantly awake at that, pulled himself upright. “What do you mean? I thought – I thought we were good. Things have been good!”

“We are, it’s not that.” Crowley reached out and threaded a hand through Ezra’s. “But do you remember how you were worried that something about just being here was changing you?”

Ezra nodded. “I do.”

“Well,” Crowley said, “you’re not wrong. Just being here does something to humans, over time. The humans who have been here the longest lose something of their humanity. They change.”

Ezra looked worried. “Change how?”

“It’s hard to describe,” Crowley said. “They become – like something that belongs in neither place. Not quite human, still not fey. They live longer than they should, become fairer, but something leeches away until they are like shells.” He ran a hand over his face. “Being away from your world and the normal flow of time takes something out of them. I could not bear to see that happen to you.”

“How long _have_ I been here?” Ezra asked.

“As near as I can tell, about nine months,” Crowley said.

“And are you beginning to see the signs of that in me?”

Crowley thought for a minute. “Perhaps, just a little – in the way you said that you don’t think about your home as much as you used to. It may be the start.”

Ezra looked stubborn. And frightened. He looked, Crowley thought, stubbornly frightened. And if that wasn’t the perfect description of Ezra whenever he was faced with a crisis, he didn’t know what was.

“I want to stay myself,” Ezra said, firmly. “And I don’t want to leave you.”

“I want that too.” Crowley leaned in and kissed him. “And I find myself perplexed by how much I want to know that what lies between us is real. I want us to be -- “ he cast around for the words – “on equal footing.”

“As do I,” Ezra said quietly.

“I want to know that you choose me,” Crowley said. “Because you have a choice. Not because you’re locked in a room in my castle. I don’t want to be your… your Lord.”

“You’re not my Lord,” Ezra reminded him. “Not at all.”

“You know what I mean.”

Ezra did, unfortunately. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as if trying to shut out the painful reality.

“We have to use the charm,” he said.

“I think so,” the Prince agreed.

“Perhaps not right away.”

Crowley was silent for a moment. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But soon, I think.”

Ezra laid his head back down on Crowley’s shoulder, and they both stared off into the darkened room as all thoughts of sleep escaped them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got stuck and had to set this one aside for a few days before I could finish it. Sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoy!


	14. Moment of Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which discoveries are made, plans are crafted, and Ezra must move on.

“We need to send you home within the next month,” Crowley said. “The changes tend to start when you’ve been in Fae for a year, and they don’t seem to be reversible.”

Ezra sighed. He had to admit he had conflicting feelings. On one hand, the thought of going home was delightful. He didn’t really want to live in the Fae realms – this had never been his idea, and it had certainly never been a matter of choice. He wanted to see his tidy, cozy cottage again, and talk to his friends, and go to the pub, and see if he was still welcome to teach at the school. He wanted to see Anathema, the one person who he could possibly make sense of some of these experiences with.

But then again, there was Crowley. Who he had fallen for. Hard. Being away from him in the flush of new love was an impossible thought. It made his heart clench, thinking about the loss he would undoubtedly feel.

“What happens to me if I choose to stay?” Ezra asked.

“You don’t get to do that,” Crowley snapped. “I won’t watch you become less.”

Ezra laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m just asking so I have as much information as possible,” he said. “Could you tell me more about it?”

Crowley examined him impartially for a few moments, then gave in. “I’ll do one better,” he said. “I will show you. Come with me.”

\--

Crowley led them out through his wing, through a variety of baffling stairways that seemed to lead up and down into nowhere, and into another residential-type wing where they stopped in front of a large door emblazoned with an insect of some kind in the center. Ezra leaned in to examine it and noted it was a large and rather detailed fly. He looked at Crowley questioningly.

“Beelzebub’s chambers,” Crowley said, raising his hand to knock. He pounded the door three times hard, then stood back to wait.

“Tell me about Beelzebub,” Ezra said. “Are they your friend?”

Crowley made a face. “I don’t have friends,” he said dismissively, but then he shrugged. “But Beelzebub is all right. We’ve known each other a long time. I can trust them, as far as it goes. They speak the truth to me.”

Ezra smiled. “Sounds like friends to me.”

“Shut up,” Crowley snapped, just as the door opened to reveal Beelzebub, in all of their buzzing glory.

“My Lord,” Beelzebub said, face expressionless. “Ezra.”

“May we come in? I need your expertise.”

Beelzebub stood aside and ushered them into what appeared to be a reception room, tastefully decorated in dark colors and with a set of velvet couches bracketing a large fire. Crowley sat down on one, pulling Ezra down beside him, and Beelzebub settled in across from them, their insect companions putting out an irritating buzz.

“What can I do for you?” they asked, tone only slightly mocking.

“Ezra wants to know what happens to a human who stays here too long,” Crowley said. “I thought perhaps –”

“Lord Crowley, you cannot be seriouzzz,” Beelzebub protested. “This goezz a bit beyond what izz required of being your loyal –”

“I know,” Crowley said, uncharacteristically humble. “It _is_ a lot to ask. But… would you consider it? I don’t think there’s a better way to make it clear to him what he risks by staying. I would be –” he cleared his throat – “most grateful.”

The two stared at each other tensely for a moment, and then Beelzebub shrugged and stood abruptly. “Fine,” they said. “Wait here.”

Ezra turned to Crowley as Beelzebub disappeared deeper into her chambers. “What is happening?” he asked.

“Beelzebub has – had – has a companion,” Crowley said tersely. “A human.”

Ezra blinked. “They do? But you never see them at court!”

“You’re about to see why,” Crowley said.

Beelzebub reappeared, holding a human female by the wrist behind them. “This izz Juliet,” they said, stepping aside and allowing the woman to pass into the room. She sat down on the couch and Beelzebub sat next to her.

Ezra examined her. Juliet appeared to be in her twenties. She was slim and androgynous looking, with long chestnut-brown hair that might once have been glossy but now was tangled and ropey, and her brown eyes darted around the room wildly, before being settled somewhat by Beelzebub resting a hand on her shoulder. She was dressed in a linen gown of dark blue, attractive but a little threadbare in places, and her posture was restless. She fidgeted endlessly, even as she sat.

“Nice to meet you, Juliet,” Ezra said politely. “It’s nice to meet someone from home.”

Those wandering brown eyes shot to him. “Home?” Juliet said, her voice whispery. She laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound. “What is home? This is home, I live here now. My Lord Bee takes care of me. I do not know what this home you refer to means.”

“I mean Earth,” Ezra said, frowning.

“Earth!” Juliet sing-songed. “Earth – worth - dearth - girth - mirth.” She laughed again. “I think I knew a place called that once. We read about it in a book, didn’t we, my Lord?”

She looked at Beelzebub, who stroked her shoulder comfortingly. “I believe we did, yezz.”

Juliet began rocking and idly picked at the fabric of one sleeve, unraveling tiny threads and pulling them. As she rocked, she sang a song under her breath, but Ezra couldn’t make out the tune or the words.

“May I go?” she abruptly asked Beelzebub, who nodded, and she drifted up and out of the room.

Everyone waited until her singing could no longer be heard.

“What in the name of –” Ezra began. “Who is that poor girl?”

Beelzebub glared at him. “Juliet wazz my lover and companion. I brought her here yearzz ago, after meeting her on Earth a few timezz.” Their voice was oddly impassive. “We did not know or recognize at the time what was happening until it was too late for her, and her sanity was cracked beyond repair.”

“And now?” Ezra asked accusingly. “Now what is she to you?”

Crowley shot him a warning look. “Beelzebub cares for her as best she can. We have tried to heal her to no avail. This is not a joke to either of us, Ezra. Tread carefully.”

Ezra colored. “I apologize,” he said, looking to Beelzebub. “I – how did it start?”

Beelzebub thought. “I believe it began with memory loss. She’d forget herself, once in a while, or get confused about where we were, what realm. But we were happy and I did not notice it was anything seriouzz until it had progressed.”

“We thought she was homesick,” Crowley added. “Took her back to Earth a few times, but it didn’t help. She just got more and more lost, until she became more like a child than an adult.”

“I can’t send her back now,” Beelzebub said. “She is helpless, and she no longer agezz. I shudder to think what the people of your world would make of her. Once they would have burned her as a witch.”

\--

Ezra was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked back towards their wing.

“Do you understand better now?” Crowley asked, gently.

“I do,” Ezra said. “How long has she been here?”

Crowley calculated in his head. “About two hundred years, I believe.”

Ezra thought wildly. “How do you know that this is not just something that happened to Juliet?” he asked. “Perhaps she was already prone to madness, or perhaps she was sick. It’s possible it could be just an outlier and your average human might not –”

“Ezra!” Crowley thundered.

Ezra stopped midsentence and stared at him, blinking.

“She is not the only case. There have been others. We have –” Crowley tried to choose his words carefully. “We have experimented on other cases.”

“Experimented?”

“Yes, in an attempt to understand.” Crowley said, squaring his shoulders at the disapproving glare he was receiving. “Oh, don’t give me that look. We did what was necessary to try to understand what had happened to Juliet and to try to fix her. We learned little that was helpful. And there are other residents here who do not care what happens to their human companions. Believe me when I tell you we have seen the process many times.”

Ezra deflated. “So, I can’t live here. If I chose to.”

“Not permanently, no.”

“You have no way to shield me from this.”

Crowley shook his head, lips pressed tightly together.

Ezra let that last hope go.

\--

Anathema Device stopped by Ezra’s cottage after school on Friday, as she did every week. Originally, she’d stopped by hoping to find her friend suddenly at home again, but now, with the one year mark approaching, she merely came by to tidy up, deadhead the flowers in the front window boxes, and take in the post. She couldn’t explain why, but she’d never really believed the idea that Ezra was really gone. The local authorities had hunted for him extensively and finally returned with no evidence of foul play and, truly, no evidence of any kind. Presumed abducted was the outcome.

Anathema had her own theories, but wisely kept them to herself. She had taken note of the tor in the general area where Ezra had disappeared, and pieced together a few pieces of information from the boys who had accompanied him on the trip to determine that the last time anyone saw Ezra, he was approaching or climbing the tor. Given their earlier discussions about his class’s course of study, Anathema strongly suspected Ezra had somehow slipped between worlds. This gave her hope that her friend might also, somehow, slip back.

It was mid-October, nearly a year since Ezra’s disappearance, and Samhein was approaching. Her coven was preparing to celebrate it with a bonfire and festival, as they did every year, to celebrate the end of the year and commune with the ancestors. It was also, Anathema noted, a time when the walls between worlds were thin and when offerings were traditionally left out for the Fae. She hoped that she might be able to reach her friend that evening, or at least plead for his return.

She ensured that the cottage was in order, ran the taps to flush them, and added to the immense pile of post on the kitchen table, then let herself out after one last look around.

She had plans to make.

\--

“What will the charm do, do you think?” Ezra asked, examining the small black bag in front of them. Neither of them really wanted to open it, and Ezra was afraid to even touch it. It laid on the table in front of them, seeming to absorb all of the light and oxygen in the room. 

Crowley frowned. “I’m actually not sure. I don’t think it’s going to immediately transport you home, although it might. I think – I think it will just dissolve the bond that ties you here.”

Ezra thought for a moment. “Well, since we aren’t sure,” he said slowly, “we should proceed as if that’s a possibility. I mean, say goodbye before we try it. Just in case we don’t get a chance to otherwise.”

“It’s not goodbye,” Crowley said gruffly. “I will visit you shortly thereafter, even if it does lift you straight home.”

“Will it hurt?” Ezra asked.

“I don’t know,” Crowley said. “I don’t think Griane would have made it to hurt you on purpose. The Seelie have … standards.” He made it sound like a bad word.

“Ah.” Ezra said, then fell quiet. “How does it work?”

“You have to eat it.”

They both stared wordlessly at the velvet bag on the table in front of them.

“And then I suppose I can’t eat anything else, correct?” Ezra said, “or I will just be bound here again?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Crowley said. “But I suppose. Although since it would happen in my court, I could of course loosen that bond more easily. The person who binds you with food and drink has the power to break that bond at will.”

Ezra nodded. “Even if I don’t disappear, I think it makes the most sense that you return me home as soon as we’ve used the gem. No point in prolonging the agony.”

Crowley paled. “I suppose you’re right.”

“But let’s take a few days first to enjoy ourselves,” Ezra said. “When is Samhain again?”

“Three days from now,” Crowley said. “It would be the safest time to travel between worlds.”

“Three days,” Ezra said softly.

“Three days.”

\--

There were moments, Crowley realized, when it took all of his self-control not to pitch the infernal gem into the lava pits in front of the keep. It would be so easy to conveniently lose the charm. It would be so simple to forget about all his concerns for Ezra’s welfare and just do what was best for _him_.

He felt the lie of it even as the words formed in his mind. His world, it seems, had undergone a fundamental shift in the last few months. What was best for him was no longer a simple matter. What was best for him, the much-feared Prince of the Unseelie court, now involved the complicated calculus of another being, a creature who was now as fundamental to his happiness and continued existence as, well, breathing.

It was damn inconvenient, this love business. And yet, he wouldn’t voluntarily give it up for the world. Unfortunately, he was going to have to give it up anyways, he thought grimly. Or at least set it free, and see what became of it.

\--

They did their best to make the most of their last few days together. They spent long, leisurely hours in bed, drinking each other in with a hint of desperation, as if to store up on the memory of each other’s touch and taste and smell. They wandered the keep and the chasm, exploring the beautiful and terrifying and majestic sights that Ezra had not yet seen. Crowley cancelled what he could of his official court responsibilities and kept Ezra with him through the rest, to better devote his time and attention to his human. They both appeared, to the denizens of Unseelie, rather distracted and out of sorts. Rumors flew as to what might be happening. Only Beelzebub knew for sure, and they kept their own counsel.

On their last morning, Crowley woke Ezra up by running an adoring hand over the planes of his face. Ezra came awake slowly, not wanting to admit that the day had come, and when he could no longer pretend, he launched himself into the Prince’s arms and clung tightly.

Crowley, finding something in himself, decided that he could be strong for his angel today.

“Come, now,” he said, gently detaching them after petting and calming Ezra and peppering him with kisses. “I have something planned for today.”

Ezra allowed himself to be roused from the bed, threw on the clothing that Crowley picked out for him without comment or notice, and then followed the Prince down through the keep and out the main doors.

A firesteed awaited them, immense and terrifying, pawing and snorting at the ground. Attached to its saddle was a well-packed set of saddle bags, bulging with items Ezra could not identify.

“Oh no,” Ezra said. “No, no, no. I don’t care if it’s our last day, I am _not_ riding _that.”_

Crowley scowled gently at him. “Now, stop that, you’ll hurt Grover’s feelings.”

“Grover?” Ezra said. “This frightening creature is named Grover?”

Crowley patted the horse on its rump. It nickered most alarmingly. “Yes it is. Grover’s my favorite. We go way back.”

Ezra shook his head. “I don’t know. Me and horses, it’s not usually a good thing. Very hard on the buttocks, in my experience.”

“Grover’s a lamb,” Crowley said, swinging himself up into the saddle. He leaned down and held out a hand to Ezra. “You’re coming. Might as well get on with it.”

Ezra sighed and gave in to the inevitable.

\--

Once he deigned to open his eyes again, which he was not embarrassed to admit was several minutes later, he found that Grover was, indeed, a very comfortable ride. Despite finding himself a shockingly high distance above the ground on the back of what was essentially a hell horse, he had to admit that the beast cantered gently and kept them both level as they headed through the forests around the keep. It was essentially a nice day, for the Fae – not sunny, of course, give the realm’s lack of sun, but neither was it cloudly or stormy or belting them with tennis-ball sized globes of hail. It was a quiet, warm afternoon, with soft green light, and once they had left the keep behind, you could almost, almost pretend, if you squinted right, that you were in a forest on Earth, perhaps right at dusk when the light was falling strangely.

They rode for another half hour, until they emerged in a clearing with a small pond in it. A large willow tree trailed its branches down into the water, and what looked like dragonflies played among the rushes. Ezra, knowing better from his experiences with his first tiny flying fey, didn’t examine them too closely, not really wanting to know if they were sporting razor-blade teeth or murder eyes. Instead he dismounted, stretching his back and hips as Crowley opened up the saddle packs and pulled out a large, tartan blanket, which he spread on the ground.

“Tartan?” Ezra said. “Oh how lovely.”

Crowley patted the blanket and Ezra smilingly complied, coming over and stretching himself out on it, propped up on his elbows to watch as Crowley returned to the packs and began laying out what looked like a sumptuous feast.

“I thought we could have a little picnic,” Crowley said. “One last date in my world.”

Ezra smiled. “What a lovely idea,” he said.

Crowley joined him on the blanket, threading his hand through Ezra’s, and watched with a smile playing over his lips as Ezra exclaimed over all of the delicacies he’d brought. He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured them each a glass, handing one of the crystal goblets carefully to the prince.

“A toast?” Ezra said nervously.

Crowley looked at him, and waited.

“To – to finding love in unexpected places,” Ezra said.

Crowley swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “Long may it be so.”

They both drank. And then they sat staring at the food, both of them abruptly too dejected to find any of it appetizing.

“It seems a waste not to eat it,” Ezra offered.

“It does.”

“Perhaps just a bite?”

Crowley nodded his assent, as Ezra picked out a delicate cherry-like fruit and offered it to him. The Prince allowed himself to be fed several more tidbits by Ezra’s hand, until Ezra’s care and his delicate humor restored his spirits to some degree, and soon they were talking and laughing and enjoying themselves, despite the circumstances.

“You know, Ezra,” Crowley said, as they cuddled next to each other on the blanket later that afternoon, “I expect you to use your talent for spycraft to contact me regularly from home.”

Ezra lifted his head lazily and blinked up at him. “You mean scrying?”

Crowley nodded. “Yes, since you’re so talented at it. It will be like, what did you call it? Phone calls. Is that the right wording?”

Ezra kissed him. “Yes, you’ve got it right. And that’s an excellent idea. Shall we say, every other evening at midnight?”

Crowley shook his head fiercely. “Every evening. Promise me.”

This was one promise that Ezra didn’t mind making. “Of course, my love. Whatever you like.”

Crowley nodded, satisfied for the moment.

“Does being on Earth affect you like being here affects me?” Ezra asked.

“I can’t stay there indefinitely,” Crowley said. “But it’s not immediate. The bigger risk is that the longer I’m there, the more likely there is to be a coup back home.”

“Running the Unseelie Court doesn’t seem like such a wonderful job, the way you describe it.” Ezra said. 

Crowley shrugged. “Better me than someone else. But I can get away with Beelzebub’s help, at least twice a month.”

“We can have dates,” Ezra grinned. “The next date is on me.”

“It will be good for us,” Crowley said. “Starting over, in a way. On equal footing.”

“You don’t mean that you doubt whether I will still want you once I’m home, do you?”

Crowley shrugged, looking away. “I mean it will be good for you to have a choice. I know I will still want you. This changes nothing in my blackened ruin of a heart.”

Ezra leaned over and hugged him tightly. “For me as well, my love. I swear it.”

Crowley kissed him softly, but said nothing further. And for a while, no further conversation was needed.

\--

Anathema and her coven were in place as the sun went down on Samhein, their bonfire laid at the base of the ancient tor that she suspected had swallowed up her friend. She and her companions were dressed in white linen robes, with torches in their hands, and they had ritually blessed their circle, their instruments, and the special offering of food and wine they’d brought to appease the fey.

They watched carefully as the sun sank below the tree line, and right at the moment when they judged it had crossed the horizon, each of them carefully laid their torches to the immense pile of sticks, lighting it instantly aflame.

One member of the coven sat near the fire, beating out a rhythm on a small drum, and the rest of them took position around the edges, beginning the steps in an ancient dance passed down through the generations, a dance of praise and entreaty, of protection and blessing. They whirled and stepped carefully, always in the deosil direction, never widdershins, while singing the strains of a song in a language they no longer completely understood. The dance quickly took on a life of its own, raising energies and making the flame crackle higher.

As they reached their peak, Anathema and another carefully chosen companion picked up the offerings – wine and apples, honey cakes and barley – and used a ritual bronze dagger to cut an opening in the circle of power they had just lifted around them. They stepped carefully through, and then knelt to lay their offerings at the foot of the tor.

Anathema stayed kneeling as her friend retreated to the circle, leaning back on her heels and gathering her thoughts and intentions.

“Lords of the Fae,” she cried. “I ask you to release your visitors from Earth today, to return those you have borrowed to their friends and loved ones. Hear our pleas and receive our offerings, and return to us our friend and neighbor Ezra Fell.”

Behind her, the circle of humans continued dancing and chanting, building up their power and will, and Anathema closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could. She felt the tingle of power building up around her, and she prayed as hard as she could to the forces she believed in. Then she laid her hands flat on the ground of the hill and waited intently.

\--

Crowley sat up suddenly.

“It’s time,” he said, rousing Ezra carefully. “I can’t tell you how I know, but it’s time. Right now.”

Ezra sat up, cross legged, and peered at him. “No, it can’t be,” he said, voice breaking. “Not yet.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Your friend, the witch, is calling you across the barriers between worlds. I can feel her. It’s sunset in your world, and the barrier is as thin as it’s going to be. It will help us get you back to the correct place and time if we follow her lead.”

Ezra leaned in for one, long searing kiss, and when he sat back, his eyes were shining with tears but his face was resolute and his shoulders were square.

“All right then,” he said. “This has been a most lovely day.”

“You finally remembered not to say thank you,” Crowley said with a smile, feeling like his heart was breaking.

Ezra laughed a little. “Wanted to surprise you one last time.”

“You,” Crowley said, “have never ceased to surprise me.”

He reached into his pocket and drew out the bag, untying the laces and shaking one small, golden gem out into his hand.

“What do we do with it?” Ezra said.

“You have to swallow it,” Crowley said. “That’s all.”

Ezra eyed it suspiciously. “Oh, is _that_ all.”

Crowley closed his fist over it. “You will be safe. I love you, Ezra,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

He reached out and dropped the gem into Ezra’s palm. It shimmered strangely and felt oddly warm. He stared at it, mesmerized, for a second, before looking up to meet Crowley’s eyes.

“I love you, too,” he said. And without breaking eye contact, he brought the hand to his lips, placed the gem on his tongue, and swallowed.

A shimmering glow broke out across his body, enveloping him in a golden haze and causing the hairs on his arms to rise in waves. “Something is happening,” he called out, reaching out a hand to Crowley for reassurance. “It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt, but I think I –”

Crowley reached out to take his hand, but before he could connect, Ezra was gone.

\--

Anathema laid her hands flat on the ground of the hill, eyes closed, and waited intently. She could feel the thrum and murmur of power behind her, around her, and inside her. The hairs on her body rose and she felt a strange shiver work its way up her spine, as if she had been touched by an icy finger. She kept her eyes closed and her focus fixed on calling to Ezra, as fiercely as she could.

And then suddenly, there was a sound almost like a thunderclap, and all of the noise behind her stopped.

She opened her eyes and noted two things immediately – one the offerings in front of her were gone, entirely, dishes and all, and two, there was a huddled lump of a person a few feet away from her, to the left. They were curled in a ball, knees hugged to their chest, and were outlined in a strange shining glimmer, and for a moment she was unwilling to breathe or even believe the evidence of her own eyes.

“Ezra?” she said quietly. “Is that you?”

The person uncurled themselves and drew a deep breath, and the golden glimmer around them began to fade. A familiar pair of blue eyes sought hers, rimmed with what struck her as immeasurable anguish.

“An- Anathema?” he said. “You’re here?”

Anathema shrieked and launched herself at Ezra, pulling him close to her and wrapping her arms around him.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured. “You’re home now. Oh Ezra, you’re home!”

Yes, he thought to himself, feeling the tears he’d been holding back all day fall freely. I’m home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any heartbreak caused by this chapter. Please don't curse me through your tears. :) I had to stop several times while writing it because I was so sad for my characters! And writing this was the strangest experience -- every author SAYS they feel like their characters are driving the story, but I literally sat down this morning with an empty file that said "OH MY GOD WHAT COMES NEXT I DON'T KNOW!" at the top and with only the vague idea of Anathema being involved in his return in my head and, suddenly, all of this came pouring out, and Beelz showed up and wanted to get involved in the action, and... and... it just happened. I wrote for six straight hours today. I think I have actually brought these guys to life in some weird alternate dimension. 
> 
> It is weird and it is AWESOME. :) 
> 
> Anyhow, we have one more chapter and possibly an epilogue to go, and I do promise that we are almost there. Thank you for going on this long long journey with me! As someone who immediately "marks for later" any story with more than like six chapters to it, I really appreciate everyone who is willing to read my long, long, long rambling stories.


	15. Back to Real Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra returns home, Crowley visits, and both of them face grillings from unexpected sources.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one! And heh, of course it's not over. Did you really think I could wrap this up in one more chapter? I have plus-one'd the chapter count accordingly. I may just ramble on here forever. :) 
> 
> Please hang in there with me. I have plotted out exactly one more chapter but it will probably take me two, since my story has yet again thrown me a brand new curve I hadn't planned for. Thank you for reading!  
> .  
> .

Ezra sat at his kitchen table the next afternoon and blankly stared into his mug as Anathema fussed busily in the kitchen. The previous evening had been a blur; Anathema clearly saw that he was in no state to answer questions and hurried him home, where she settled him onto the couch, wrapped him in blankets, and set a roaring fire going in the grate. And then – bless her heart, Ezra thought to himself, even in his shock – she just sat with him, without pressing for details. That was, he thought, probably the biggest sign of a true friend he’d encountered yet.

The next morning, though, the carnival began. Anathema insisted on reporting his return to the local authorities, and officials quickly began descending on him – doctors, newspaper reporters, the local constable, all asking the same question. Where have you been? What happened to you?

The quickest and least complicated route, Ezra had decided, was to claim that he didn’t know.

“I don’t remember,” he told the doctor, feigning concern and perhaps a touch of a headache. “I don’t remember anything.”

“I’m so sorry, I simply don’t remember,” he told the reporter, putting on his best perplexed expression. “I just awoke in the woods yesterday evening. The rest is a blank.”

“I do apologize, but I have no idea what happened to me,” he told the constable, the pretend headache becoming more and more real.

It went on and on and on, but finally, with their questions completely unanswered but having assured themselves that he was unharmed and in good health and in full control of his faculties (aside from some shocking memory loss), they eventually left him alone. 

\--

Anathema plunked a cup down in front of Ezra and took a seat. He leaned forward and breathed in the scent of Darjeeling and smiled at her fondly, enjoying the feeling of the cup warming his hands as he held it.

“That all went relatively well,” Anathema said, picking up her own oversized cup with both hands and taking a long sip. “Aside from the fact that you’re lying to all of them.”

Ezra sighed and put the cup back down on the table. He stared at her for a long moment.

“Well of course I was,” he finally said. “What do you think I’m going to say to them? If I tried to tell them what really happened, you’d be visiting me in Bedlam.”

“I’m glad to hear that you’re willing to talk to _someone_ about it,” she said carefully. “So, tell me, how was Faerie?”

Ezra considered dissembling with her for a moment, and then gave up. She was simply to clever for it to work.

\--

By the time Ezra finished the runthrough of his story, they were on their third cup of tea and the sun had disappeared below the horizon. Sometime during the tale, Anathema had dug out some fresh baked bread and cheese from the basket she always carried.

 _My first human food_ , he thought as he took a bite. _Will this bind me here in the same way as it did when I arrived there?_

If so, he didn’t feel any change.

Ezra stopped distracting himself long enough to notice that Anathema was oddly silent. He noted she was staring intently at him, her expression unreadable.

“Still with me?” he asked.

“I am of two minds,” she said. Then she broke into the most gigantic grin. “First of all, you mean it’s all REAL?” she shrieked. “I mean, I thought it was. Always hoped it might be. But you never really KNOW.”

He laughed in spite of himself. “It’s all real, I assure you.”

She sobered. “And mind number two – Ezra!! Good lord. You’ve been through some trauma, my friend. That is – that is a LOT.”

He felt the smile fall off his face. “It was – it is a lot.”

“And – “ she stopped to gather her words. “And you’re in _love_? With this prince guy?”

Ezra nodded, without hesitation. “Yes, I am.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And it’s not enchantment?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “It’s real.”

“Well,” she said sternly. “I’ll have to meet him for myself and let you know what I think about him, of course.”

“Of course, my dear,” he said mildly. “Wouldn’t dream of denying you that.”

“Good, then,” she said. “By the way, I’m staying over, so when you have a minute, find me some blankets for the couch?”

He sipped the last of his tea and went off to do so.

\--

“By the way,” Ezra said to Anathema later. “I need to scrye tonight – and it’s awfully cold out there to use the bird bath every night. Do you have an appropriate basin or anything that would work?”

Anathema eyed him with concern. “Why do you have to scrye?”

“Because it’s like making a phone call, for us,” he said. “I promised to check in with Crowley every evening.”

“So that he can rework his enchantment on you?” she said suspiciously.

Ezra sighed, irritated. “I promise you I am under no enchantment. And I won’t be defending that to you every five minutes. Help me or don’t. I’m sure I can find a bowl around here somewhere by myself.”

She blushed a little. “You can’t blame me for being a little protective when you’re besotted with someone who kept you prisoner for the last year.”

“No, I’m besotted with someone who found a way to set me free and sent me _home_ ,” he said pointedly. “There’s quite a difference there.”

\--

Anathema eventually did fetch a bronze bowl from her home for him, recommending the material for its excellent magical properties. Ezra saw her bedded down for the night, and then headed to his own rooms upstairs to make his first contact with Crowley since he returned. He found himself oddly nervous about doing so. He took a calming breath, then walked through the familiar steps of setting up the basin with water and ink, focusing his intention, and asking it to show him his love.

Crowley appeared almost immediately, although the image was less clear than it had been when he’d scryed from the Fae realms. Still, he could easily make out the Prince’s face and a bit of the dark room behind him, and his heart leapt into his throat.

“Hello, my dear,” he said pleasantly. “How – how are you?”

Crowley peered at him closely, then waved a hand, sharpening the image a little. “’m afraid I’m not good at all,” he said. “Missing you terribly. You’re home?”

Ezra filled him in on the influx of questions and authorities since his return, and about Anathema’s well-meaning but irritating over-protectiveness. Crowley laughed at his amnesia explanation, but agreed it was probably the best course of action.

“But the witch knows the truth?” he asked.

“Anathema,” Ezra said, “and yes she does. You two will have to meet soon, if for no other reason so that you two can put your mutual distrust to rest. I think you’ll get along rather well, actually.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow but did not comment further.

“When do you think you can visit?” Ezra asked.

“In about a week, I believe,” Crowley said. “I’ve got a few issues to deal with here; you wouldn’t believe the fuss Hastur and Ligur are kicking up about what happened to you. They think you’re dead. I might have to drag them in here to see you at some point if they won’t let it go. And the goblins are in the midst of an uprising against their clan leader that has the potential to destabilize our whole power system – “

Ezra drifted a little as Crowley described the matters occupying his time and attention, and instead of closely following instead examined his lover’s face. He looked pale and drawn, but his voice was lively and the sight of him was like balm to his soul.

“Ezra –” Crowley’s voice broke through his reverie. “Are you listening to me at all?”

Ezra laughed. “I am – I am! I’m sorry, I was just thinking how nice it is to see your face again, and how much I would like to be able to touch you right now, and – I got distracted.”

Crowley smiled. “I understand,” he said. “I feel the same.”

\--

Ezra slowly tried to settle back into life on Earth, while the first two weeks back crawled by. He puttered in his back garden, he read books, and even went out for a few rides into the village on his bicycle, although wherever he went, people had a habit of pointing and whispering, or breaking out of their existing conversations entirely to stare at him – the man who had returned from the dead. He had to politely fend off a lot of well-meaning inquiries and boatloads of unwanted advice, and after a while he just started to find it easier and less frustrating to stay home. Anathema, having satisfied herself that he was essentially all right after the first two nights, eventually left him to his own devices, but did tend to stop by to check on him every single day. He would have to talk to her about that eventually, he thought, but one thing at a time.

But mostly, he missed Crowley, so badly that it ached. He thought about him at every turn, wondering what he was doing, missing his touch and his laugh and his odd combination of tenderness and crankiness that he had never realized he needed in his life but now missed to deeply that it felt like a knife. It was hard to wake up and find him missing, and it was excruciating to go to bed alone. He ended up reading deep into the night most of the time.

He had just returned from the market on a Sunday afternoon and was poking around in the kitchen making sausages and slicing bread when there was a sudden rap at the front door.

He turned down the hob to low heat, set down his spatula, and went to answer the door without even removing his apron. He hoped against hope that it wasn’t the newspaper again – they’d run the most frightfully sensational story about him last week and had been threatening a follow up interview ever since. He let these thoughts put a frown on his face as he opened the door with a flourish, words already forming on the tip of his tongue, and saw –

Crowley.

It was Crowley. Standing nervously on his doorstep, dressed simply in clothing that didn’t stick out too badly for the time period, looking rather nervous, and holding something behind his back.

Ezra made a garbled sound in his throat and launched himself into Crowley’s arms, right there on the doorstep, in full view of the whole world. Their lips collided with enough force to almost knock Crowley back a step, but the prince rallied at the last minute and wrapped and arm around Ezra’s waist, pulling him in closer.

“Why hello to you too,” the Prince said when they finally came up for air.

“Crowley!” Ezra breathed. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Please, come in, come in.”

Crowley stepped inside and pulled out an enormous bouquet of flowers from behind his back – pale peach and coral roses, mostly, with small blue accents here and there.

“Oh! They’re lovely!” Ezra said, heading off to the kitchen to find a vase.

\--

While Ezra was fussing in the kitchen, Crowley took a quick wander around the main floor. So, this was where Ezra lived. It was small, for certain, and nothing like any dwelling he’d ever lived in. Cozy. Crammed with books. He ran his hand along books on a bookcase, feeling as he did as if he were touching some essential part of Ezra himself. These books – the human hadn’t been kidding, they were freaking _everywhere._ On the shelves, on the floor in stacks, on an empty chair, piled on the mantle.

Unlike his home, the furniture here was broad and overstuffed and seemed to have been chosen for comfort. He admired the immense fireplace, peeked out the windows to take in the long, broad back garden with its beech tree in the back and the long beds of mostly dormant flowers. He caught a quick glance of the infamous bird bath, and then Ezra was back upon him, vase in hand. He set it on a long, narrow table directly behind the freestanding couch.

“I’ve missed you,” Crowley said.

“Not as much as I’ve missed you,” Ezra said, pressing in close.

This was an argument Crowley decided not to have, he thought, as he allowed himself to be thoroughly kissed. Ezra started to tug him towards the staircase, but Crowley firmly detached himself and stepped back, demonstrating powers of will and self-denial he had not previously known he possessed.

Ezra looked up at him questioningly. “Is something wrong?”

“No, angel,” Crowley said. “But I’m here for us to have a date. Get to know each other in your world. And I know for a fact that once you get me upstairs, we won’t be coming back down anytime soon.”

Ezra grinned a little in acknowledgement of that fact, then looked up coyly at Crowley and – damn it all -- he pouted. “You’ve never denied me before…” 

Crowley wondered if it was possible to die of love. “Yes, yes,” he chided, “but you will live through it. Now, show me that bird commode that started all of this, won’t you?”

\--

That evening they collapsed in a pile on the couch near the fire. Ezra ran his hand through Crowley’s long red hair, enjoying a wordless moment of contentment. 

“Oh!” Crowley said suddenly, “I forgot to tell you. Guess who showed up at the Unseelie court?”

Ezra ran his fingers through a tangle, working the knots loose. “Who? Someone new?”

Crowley nuzzled appreciatively. “Gabriel,” he said in a tone of distaste.

Ezra dropped his hand and sat up. “Gabriel?? What was he doing there? Bearing some kind of message from the queen?”

Crowley pushed himself up to sitting as well. “No, not a visit. He basically emigrated. Wants to be part of Unseelie now. Something about falling out of favor with my sister. You should see him posturing, wearing all black and trying to act like he isn’t a total wanker.”

Ezra frowned. “And this doesn’t strike you as suspicious at all?”

“Of _course_ it strikes me as suspicious,” Crowley frowned. “I’m not an idiot, and I have more experience in statecraft than _you_ do.”

Ezra made a soothing gesture. “You’re right, you’re right of course,” he said. “It’s just – let’s just say that he has it in for me. Not sure if I ever brought you up to date on how badly he and I hit it off when I was with your sister’s court.”

“You didn’t,” Crowley said grimly. “Tell me.”

Ezra did. Everything from the point at which Gabriel was left in charge of him, to the mindless and dispassionate ways he found to torment him, to his apparent resentment of his place in the Seelie court, up until their final stand off in which Gabriel was reprimanded in front of the entire power structure of the court for his interactions with Ezra.

“I had the distinct impression I was not long for the realm,” Ezra concluded. “Had you not taken me when you did, I believe I would have found myself subject to increasingly dangerous interference from him.”

Crowley frowned. “Great. Now I want to kill him. And I really can’t just kill him. He’s one of the Gentry.”

“What are the Gentry?”

“High level lords of Fae. Griane and I are above them, of course, but attack one of the Gentry without cause and there will be repercussions that even we might find hard to survive.”

“Well,” Ezra said. “Perhaps he’s telling the truth about being kicked out. Griane wasn’t happy with him.”

“Beez is keeping an eye on him,” Crowley said, then appeared to make an effort to shake the subject off. He pushed Ezra back down into a comfortable semi-reclining position and flopped down on his shoulder, making his hair easily and obviously accessible. “Now, let’s get back to what we were doing, shall we?” 

\--

They met Anathema at the pub the next day for lunch. Ezra watched them size each other up, almost like two tomcats circling each other, looking for weaknesses. He introduced them, made them shake hands, and guided them into a booth before one or the other of them proceeded to hissing.

He tried to ignore the whispers and murmurs that always surrounded him when he was out in public now, no doubt on this occasion trying to figure out who the strange and angular man was who was holding Ezra’s hand.

Crowley, for his part, stood out a bit as being much more fashionable and hip than he was, and also because he was unbearably gorgeous (to Ezra’s mind), but he seemed at ease in the pub, slouching comfortably in the booth next to Ezra and smiling to the help who came to take their order.

“I have questions,” Anathema said bluntly within seconds of their drinks being delivered.

Ezra nearly spit out his first sip of beer. “Anathema, really, can’t we just have some social niceties first?”

Crowley grinned. “No, I prefer for people to be direct. Please,” he said, gesturing to Anathema.

Ezra, seeing he was outvoted, picked his beer back up and did his best to down it quickly so he could get to beer number two sooner. He could tell he was going to need it. 

Anathema grinned back, not intimidated in the least. “Are you enchanting him?”

“No,” Crowley said. “Next?”

She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, peering at him through her round glasses. “How do we know that for sure?”

“You don’t, I suppose,” Crowley said. “But you’re a witch, aren’t you? You have skills. Feel free to, I dunno, check?”

“That’s a good idea, I will.” She narrowed her eyes. “And you love him?”

“Yes, I do.”

Ezra blushed happily. Anathema hrmphed.

“Like, really love him?”

“Quite enormously, actually,” Crowley said, reaching over to take Ezra’s hand. 

“You know he hasn’t been in love before.”

Ezra put down his drink with a bang. “Really, my dear –”

“I do,” Crowley cut in. “Although I was not aware of that when we began. I was not out hunting for a human virgin to deflower, if that’s what you are insinuating.”

Ezra signaled for another drink.

“You can see why I’m a bit suspicious,” Anathema said. “Shy, retiring type who’s never been in a relationship before suddenly gets kidnapped and finds himself head over heels with this powerful, fairy tale creature whose motivations are unclear?” She tapped the table with a finger. “Sounds a bit like Stockholm Syndrome.”

Crowley looked confused. “What is that?”

Ezra sighed. “It’s a documented phenomenon where prisoners come to fall in love with their captors as a result of trauma. It does not apply here.”

“Ezra was not my prisoner,” Crowley said. Except for those few days where he did lock him in, near the end. Aside from that, he added mentally, still feeling guilty about it.

“ _Were_ you his prisoner?” Anathema turned to Ezra.

“No. I was his _sister’s_ prisoner,” Ezra sighed. 

“Until he _bought_ you.”

“Anathema!” Ezra snapped. “This is getting tiresome.”

Anathema smirked and turned back to Crowley. “Is being with you dangerous to Ezra?”

“Only if he lived in my realm full time,” Crowley said. He turned to Ezra. “I assume you told her about that?”

Ezra nodded. “I did.”

“Is being with Ezra dangerous to _you_?” she asked more quietly.

“Only slightly,” Crowley said. “It takes me away from home a bit more than is probably wise. Makes me have to work a bit harder to keep control of the realm.”

“Are the people who want to overthrow you likely to take it out on Ezra?”

“Good question,” Crowley said approvingly, as Ezra wondered why he hadn’t thought of that one himself. “No, I’ve protected him. He is hidden from the rest of Fae for the moment.” He glanced apologetically at Ezra. “I didn’t have time to tell you about that. I’ll explain all the details later.”

Ezra, bemused by the patience with which Crowley was taking this grilling, smiled. “That’s fine, love.”

Anathema stared at him for another minute of silence, then sat back. “All right. One more question.”

“Please, go ahead,” he said dryly.

“What,” Anathema asked, “are your intentions towards Ezra?”

“Is she always this terrifying?” Crowley asked Ezra.

“She’s usually worse,” he replied with a grin.

“I like you,” Anathema said. “Hurt him and I’ll turn you into a frog.”

“Witches,” Crowley sighed.

\--

Ezra rolled over and ran a hand lovingly down Crowley’s back as the prince rested on his stomach in bed. The casement windows next to the bed were open and a cool breeze drifted in, fluttering the curtains. He tucked the blankets around them a little closer and appreciated the view of the prince’s red hair spread out over the pillow.

“What are we going to do, love?” Ezra asked.

“More of this, I hope,” Crowley said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Ezra laughed and leaned in to kiss him. “You know what I mean. I miss you so terribly.”

“What do you want to do?” Crowley asked, neutrally.

“I want to be with you,” Ezra said without hesitation. “Maybe I should come back.”

Crowley rolled onto his side. “You just got back here,” he said, “and you need some time here to ground yourself and counteract the effects of being in my realm for so long. Plus you should try to work out the parts of your life that have been disrupted before we make any permanent decisions.”

“But –” Ezra said, knowing he was right. “But what do you _feel_?”

Crowley paused. “I feel like I miss you every second. I want you with me. I want to walk away from all of my Fae responsibilities and live here with you, if that’s what it takes.”

Ezra felt an irrational surge of hope. “Can you do that?”

“Not really, at least not right now. Your world can be… uncomfortable for me,” he said. “There’s so much iron about, for one thing. I can’t touch your stove or your refrigerator, or ride in your cars without feeling ill. That’s a minor inconvenience, of course. But it’s also quite dangerous to suddenly step down from my responsibilities. My actions would undoubtedly cause a war, and I could become quite a target, even here, and that would put you in danger.” He shook his head. That would not do.

Ezra took that in. “I wouldn’t really want you to give up your home for me either,” he said. “So, I guess we become a commuter couple. Perhaps I can be a snowbird.”

“Is that another of these lovely phrases from your world?” Crowley said. “What does that mean?” 

“A snowbird is an American phrase for a person who spends half of every year in one place, and half of every year in another place. Like birds, you know, migrating with the snowfalls?”

“Like Persephone,” Crowley mused.

“I’m not eating any magic pomegranate seeds,” Ezra teased, “so don’t get any big ideas.”

\--

The time for Crowley to return home came all too soon. A few mornings later, they both awoke knowing it was time. Ezra lingered in bed for as long as he could, feeling as if he could just refuse to acknowledge the day and therefore it would not happen.

“I know you’re awake, angel,” Crowley said. “Don’t think you can fool me -- I can smell you pretending to sleep.”

“Oh, of all the infernal –” Ezra muttered. “Ok, fine, I’m awake. And now you have to kiss me to make up for it.”

Crowley did one better, rolling on top of him and pinning him down before kissing him senseless.

“A guy could get used to this,” Ezra giggled, freeing one hand to slide it down to encounter the top of Crowley’s pajama bottoms. “Perhaps I can find another way to encourage you to stay a bit longer,” he said, giving the draw strings a little tug.

Crowley was nothing if not amenable to a little distraction. An hour or two in bed went delightfully quickly, then Ezra insisted on making him some breakfast and tea before he left, and then even Ezra had to admit defeat. It was simply time to go and no more immediate distractions were available to prevent it.

Ezra, cursing his softness, took the dishes to the sink and busied himself there to try to hide the urge for tears.

Crowley, not fooled at all, came up behind him and wrapped himself around him.

“Don’t worry, angel,” he said. “I’ll be back in a fortnight. And until then we can chat.”

“I know,” Ezra said softly. “It’s just… difficult. This coming and going. Having you and watching you leave.”

“Are you unhappy here?” the prince asked.

“No,” Ezra said, “not in itself. I’m frustrated that everywhere I go I’m a source of gossip. But it’s nice to be back in my cottage and have my things around me and see my friends. But it pales in comparison to how much I miss you.”

Crowley leaned his forehead on Ezra’s. “We will figure it out,” he whispered.

Ezra nodded. “Take care of you,” he said quietly. “And be careful of Gabriel. He’s up to something.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Crowley said. “I can handle him, angel.”

They kissed one more time, and then Crowley walked out the front door and disappeared from sight.

Ezra watched him go with a feeling of deep misgiving.


	16. Deeper In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra works to get his life back together, but realizes he's under observation. In the Realm, Crowley faces an enemy head on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd… still not done. But very close. :) Thank you for reading! I love hearing from you!

Ezra spent a day or two moping after Crowley’s departure, and then dug deep into his essential Britishness to pull himself together and start getting his life in order. Crowley had been right, he realized, that he needed to attend to the broken threads of his former existence before they could move forward. First up was paying a call on the administrator at St. Aloysius Academy.

Ezra made himself a simple breakfast, tidied up his endlessly cluttered living room, and finally headed out for the walk to the school.

It was one of those crisp, clear days in early winter where the sun shone with a low radiance and intensity that made it clear that worse weather was coming soon. Ezra stopped just outside the front door to adjust his collar and wrap the light scarf he was wearing just a bit more around his neck -- and then suddenly stopped.

He had the strangest feeling that he was being watched.

His first thought was that it had to be more reporters. Even now, more than a fortnight after his return, they still tended to lurk and leap out to surprise him with requests for interviews or inconvenient theories they wanted confirmed or denied. He looked in all the usual places – down past the garden gate, at either end of his property, a short distance down the road – but he didn’t see anyone.

It was almost too quiet. The air around him felt heavy and ominous.

He rolled his shoulders, convinced he was being paranoid, and headed off into town at a brisk clip.

\--

Arthur Young had been headmaster of St. Aloysius for the last twelve years. He wasn’t a flashy man, and perhaps not the type of person you’d expect to see at the head of a prestigious private school. What he was, though, was a solid, methodical, skilled administrator. He showed keen insight into his students and a genuine concern for his staff. Ezra had always liked him. When he phoned, Mr. Young was quick to accept a meeting.

“Professor Fell!” Mr. Young said happily when Ezra knocked. He welcomed him in and ushered him into a comfortable leather club chair by the window. He poured him a cup of tea from a waiting pot and smiled as Ezra stirred his usual two sugars in before sitting back.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Ezra said. “I know you’re quite busy!”

“To be honest, I’ve been waiting for your call since I heard you were back. I’m glad you phoned,” Mr. Young said with disarming sincerity. “How are you recovering?”

Ezra thought for a moment of how to approach the question. “It’s been difficult in some ways,” he finally said. “There is a great deal of gossip and whispers whenever I go out. I expect that this will die down with time.”

“Life in a small village can be quite unsettling,” Mr. Young said sympathetically.

After more small talk and a second cup of tea, they got to the point of Ezra’s visit.

“Are you interested in returning to the school?” Mr. Young asked. “There’s always a place for a scholar of your caliber at St. Aloysius.”

“Oh, thank you,” Ezra said with a smile. “I’m still figuring out some of my longer term plans. In fact, I might be travelling more regularly and not available for a full time position – but I would love to teach a class or two in the terms for which I’m in town!”

Mr. Young sipped his tea. “I did, of course, have to bring in a replacement for your regular courses for the spring and fall terms,” he said. “So, your full courseload is no longer available. But we’d love to have your particular expertise in classics and literature if you want to work as more of adjunct capacity. We could offer perhaps two courses a year in the terms when you’ll be in town?”

They worked out a few details and agreed that Ezra would begin working on a syllabus for a course in Milton for the January term, and then shook hands as Ezra left.

“Oh,” Mr. Young called in parting. “Your office is still exactly as you left it. Please feel to make use of it if you’d like as you’re planning for next quarter!”

\--

Interest piqued, Ezra wound his way through familiar hallways to find his beloved little closet of an office. It was tiny – just barely big enough for a desk and two chairs, plus bookcases lining every surface to which he’d been able to affix them. He sat down in his comfortably desk shabby chair with the floral lumbar pillow and looked around contentedly. All was exactly as he remembered it, including a scattered pile of notes he’d been taking on the Mabinogion when he was last seated here. So strange to think that was over a year ago. He picked up one of the ancient copies of a few reference works he’d been working on and sniffed the pages fondly. Nothing in the world could beat the smell of old books. 

The office’s one small window let in the late morning sunshine nicely, filling the room with a golden glow. Ezra looked out over the playing fields where he could see a variety of boys thrashing at each other in what he supposed was rugby but really just looked like thinly veneered warfare. Ezra shrugged. He had never quite gotten the sports gene that was supposed to be issued to all British citizens at birth.

\--

Some unfathomable amount of time later, Ezra jolted up in his chair, startled by a knock at the door.

“Still here, Ezra?” Mr. Young said jovially. “It’s good to see you back in your natural habitat.”

Ezra tried to hide his confusion. “Yes, well, I believe I may have nodded off for a moment, to be honest.”

Mr. Young chuckled. “I’m off for the afternoon,” he said. “Feel free to drop off a syllabus for next term when you’ve had a chance to develop one. No rush.”

Ezra bid him good night, and then looked around in increasing confusion. The sunlight he’d remembered was nearly gone; the sun was low in sky and the skies were turning pink around the edges, indicating that it was nearly sunset. He didn’t remember feeling sleepy or drifting off, but somehow it appeared he had been sitting unmoving at his desk for approximately the last five hours? That hardly seemed possible, he thought. His chair was nowhere near _that_ comfortable.

He rubbed his eyes and straightened his jacket sleeves and began to gather his things to go home – and then froze as his eyes alighted on something he was quite certain had not been there before.

A small object lay glinting in the valley between the two halves of the open book he remembered smelling earlier. The Mabinogion. Last he remembered, he’d held the book in his hands. Now it was laid flat on the desk, pages splayed open, and an object had been left between them.

He picked it up, hands shaking, and examined it in the remaining daylight.

It was a small golden owl, intricately carved.

He turned on his desk lamp to examine it closer, and then sucked in his breath as he took in the expression on the owl’s face. It had a savagely sharp, long beak and an intense gaze, and its talons were spread as if it were about to spear an unsuspecting animal.

Ezra had a sudden shiver as if a cold wind had passed over him, and he pulled his coat on and dropped the owl into an interior pocket of his bag. He suddenly had the strongest feeling that he needed to be home before dark.

He hurried out of the building, borrowed one of the academy’s bicycles, and set off at a fast clip for the cottage.

\--

Crowley’s first act on arriving home was to hold a formal court, partly to make sure his presence was highly visible, and partly to catch up on whatever he had missed. He spent the morning hearing petitions, meeting subjects, and passing judgment on a bewildering variety of petty squabbles and minor feuds which had broken out in his absence. He had just finished adjudicating the disposal of a puka’s treasure stash between the two ogres who defeated him in battle when a murmur in the crowd made him look up to see what the fuss was about.

Gabriel had just entered the room, ostentatiously dressed in black leggings and a long black tunic worked with gold thread; a black cape swept behind him as he walked. It was close to but slightly different from the formal court regalia Crowley was wearing, and would in shades of cream and gold have marked him as a member of the Seelie elite. Now, Crowley thought in distaste, it just made him look like a ponce.

“Lord Crowley,” Gabriel announced, sweeping dramatically up to the podium where Crowley and Beelzebub were seated. The crowd parted for him and Crowley noted a few too many admiring glances for his own tastes. “You’re back from Earth! How nice that you could take a vacation away from your responsibilities.”

Crowley kept his face impassive and did his best not to move a single muscle. Instead he just stared icily at the man in front of him with his best death glare, waiting beat by slow beat until Gabriel was the first to break eye contact and kneel.

“I bring you news of a skirmish in the border lands,” Gabriel said theatrically. He was clearly speaking to the room as much as to Crowley. Crowley did not like this at all. “There appears to have been an attack on a pixie settlement near the southern edge of Seelie territory.”

“And how did you come to be aware of this?” Crowley said.

“I was out riding in the woods and came across the remnants of their camp. There was one survivor who shared the details of the attack with me. He has since, unfortunately, succumbed to his injuries.”

How terribly convenient, Crowley thought, but he motioned to Duke Ligur, who was standing nearby. “Sit down with Gabriel and get the details. I will join you as soon as petitions end.”

“I believe Gabriel izz moving against you,” Beelzebub said beneath their breath as Gabriel and Ligur moved off together, conferring.

Crowley sighed. “Oh, it’s great to be back, thank you so much for that!” he chirped sarcastically, then amended his tone as he saw the complete lack of response on Beelzebub’s face. “Tell me why you think that.”

“He is amassing followerzz,” Beelzebub said, “in the name of peace between the courts. Fomenting the natural disdain everyone here has for Seelie, and discussing how similar in temperament and approach you and Griane actually are.”

“So, he hopes to undermine me by making me look too much like my sister?” Crowley said.

“That seemzz to be the case.” Beelzebub continued to recount the suspicious activities of Gabriel in the Unseelie court, and Crowley had to admit the picture looked increasingly grim. “I’d bet money that he staged that pixie attack himself in an attempt to make you look either weak or uncaring.”

Crowley pondered.

\--

Anathema met Ezra for dinner at the pub that night, and then insisted on escorting him home with her bicycle in tow.

“I’m so happy you’ll be teaching again!” Anathema said as they neared his home.

“Mmm hmm,” Ezra said, examining the stand of trees across the road from his front gate.

“And then Mr. Young appointed me queen, and gave me a chimpanzee to act as an assistant for my art classes,” Anathema said brightly. “I’m sure he will prove talented.”

“That would be lovely, dear, wouldn’t it?” Ezra replied distractedly.

Anathema stopped and poked him. “Ezra!” she said. “What is wrong with you? You’re not hearing anything I’m saying.”

Ezra shook himself and turned his full attention to her. “Oh, I do apologize, my dear. I’m just a bit out of sorts.”

Anathema eyed him and then turned to the woods where he’d been staring. “What are you looking at?”

“Shhh,” Ezra said. “Come inside and I’ll tell you about it.”

After they were inside with the door firmly shut and the kettle on, Ezra busied himself making tea in the fussiest and most time-consuming way possible, and Anathema, through years of long experience, waited as patiently as she could. She knew from personal history that interrupting Ezra in his tea-making ritual would not shorten the process and might even, in some cases, cause him to start the whole process over from the very beginning. She sat and ran through some mind-settling mantras in her head to prevent herself from jumping in and taking over the entire job in her own very fast and efficient way.

Finally, when two cups of tea had been deemed acceptable and set on the table before them, she pounced.

“So?”

Ezra frowned at her. “My dear, ‘so’ is not a conversational opener in this or any decent society.”

Anathema scowled back. “Pardon me. What I meant to say is, what were you looking at and why were you acting all dodgy the whole walk home?”

Ezra took a long sip and looked for a moment like he was considering whether or not he would give her a proper response. He finally gave in. “I’ve been feeling lately like someone is watching me. Mostly here around the house.”

“Have you gotten a look at them?”

“Not directly, no, but the feeling most often has something to do with the trees across the road. And, this is going to sound crazy, but there was something in my office at the school.” He dug into his bag and pulled out the tiny metallic owl. “This was laying on top of one of my books.”

He laid it down gently on the table and Anathema picked it up and examined it closely through her spectacles.

“He looks fierce!” she said. “Maybe one of your students left it while you were gone? You know there were lots of wild stories about you being taken by the Fae and they’re an impressionable lot.”

“No,” Ezra said, “it showed up today _while I was in the office._ I – I fell asleep for a rather long time, and when I awoke it had been placed in the middle of one of my open books.”

Anathema clearly didn’t like the sound of that. “Do you often drift off to sleep at your desk?”

Ezra shook his head. “No, not ever,” he said. “It was a little disturbing.”

“Owls have a variety of meaning in folklore – they can mean wisdom, and they can mean death,” Anathema mused. “But Crowley said you were hidden here. And apparently we trust him.”

Ezra nodded. “We do,” he said. “But I was thinking – he said he’d hidden me so that no one could track me here. But did he hide himself? What if someone followed _him_ here when he visited?”

Anathema took this seriously, he could tell. She sat for a moment, lost in thought. Then she sat up resolutely. “Got anything made of iron in here?” she asked.

Ezra blinked at the non sequitur. “A few pans, yes, and a pair of garden shears. Maybe some other yard implements, I suppose. Why?”

“Good,” she said. “Get a couple of the pans and the scissors and let’s go take a look across the road.”

“Really,” Ezra said, “is this a good idea?”

Anathema grinned. “Of course it is.” She picked up the larger of the two cast iron skillets, pocketed the shears in her skirt pocket, and gestured for him to follow her. Ezra stood motionless for a second, then picked up the smaller skillet and hurried out after her.

\--

Anathema waited for him at the front gate.

“What exactly are we doing?” he asked her.

“Investigating!” she said. “Come on.”

He followed her across the road and into the small woods. They poked around cautiously, Ezra feeling eminently ridiculous holding a skillet in front of himself, but he did admit it would come in handing for whacking anyone they might meet over the head, if such a move were required. Anathema, however, seemed to be reaching out with all of her senses, and he heard her muttering something to herself that sounded like a spell. He let her take the lead, as she led them around the borders of the wooded area and then to the center of it, ending up at an area very close to the road, facing his house.

“There,” she said triumphantly. “See?”

Ezra followed her hand to where it was pointing and saw… nothing much. She was pointing towards a section of undergrowth that was perhaps a little more trodden down than the area around it, but it certainly wasn’t anything ominous. It looked, perhaps, like an animal had been bedding down there recently. Like a deer, he thought. Almost certainly a deer.

Anathema raised an eyebrow in a gesture that reminded him of Crowley, unimpressed with his lack of response. She crouched down and ran a hand over the trampled grass.

“Can’t you sense the residue?” she asked. “There’s been magic here. It’s – it’s like a nest. Something has been sitting here, watching you.”

“Something?” Ezra said weakly. “Like a fox or a deer, you mean?”

“No not like a deer. Unless it’s a magical, talking deer from the land of Oz.” Anathema stood up and brushed her hands against her skirts. “Whatever it is, it’s not here now.”

“Should we leave one of these iron pans out here so it can’t sit here again?”

Anathema shook her head. “No, I think we shouldn’t alert it that we know it’s there,” she said. “It will just find a new place and we won’t know where it is.”

“Oh good,” Ezra said fussily. “These iron pans are dreadfully expensive, and I’d hate to lose one to the weather.”

“We need to ward your property,” Anathema said, launching into a long explanation of various kinds of warding and spells and cantrips and charms that would help keep outside influences away. She continued talking at a rapid pace as they came back in, sat down near the fire, and poured a rather hefty glass of wine each.

It took Ezra a moment to realize that she had finished and was looking at him expectantly.

“Yes,” he said, trying to cover the fact that he hadn’t completely heard exactly _everything_ , “that all sounds good and all, but I do have one question. One rather _important_ question.”

“Yes?”

Ezra set his chin rather stubbornly and chose his wording as carefully as he could. “Wouldn’t warding the house and grounds against any Fae intervention also prevent Crowley from visiting?”

Anathema sighed. She knew that look intimately.

\--

“We have company, dearest,” Ezra said that night as he was scrying with Crowley. “Anathema is insisting that she needs to talk to you. I told her it wasn’t necessary, but she said she’d just figure out how to call you herself, so… ”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused. “Fine, go ahead.”

Anathema’s bespectacled face came into view beside Ezra. She blinked at the bowl. “Very nice, Ezra – that’s a really good image you’ve been able to raise here,” she said.

“Why thank you,” Ezra said. “I’ve found that –”

“You wanted something?” Crowley butted in. “Because if not, I’d like to talk to my boyfriend.”

Anathema nodded and turned back to the basin. “Your boyfriend is being a dork and you need to do something about it,” she said bluntly.

Crowley frowned. “What does _that_ mean?”

“He has the feeling that someone has been following him lately, or watching him,” she said, “and it seems to be not of earthly origins. I think it’s from your side.”

Crowley looked ferociously at Ezra, who had the grace to look embarrassed. “And you didn’t already tell me this because why?”

“Anyways,” Anathema said, sparing Ezra a response, “the problem is that I’ve offered to ward the cottage and the grounds a bit for him against outside influences but he won’t do so because he thinks it might prevent you from visiting.”

Crowley sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Ward it with iron or salt and such?”

“Yes, that was what I had planned.”

“Do it,” Crowley said.

“But –“ Ezra protested.

“Do it,” Crowley repeated, louder. “The scrying will still work, and when I need to visit I will let you know and you can make an opening.”

“Oh,” said Ezra, feeling foolish.

“And you,” said Crowley to Ezra, still frowning, “have some explaining to do. Do you need anything else, Anathema?”

She waved. “No, I’ll leave you to it, thanks!”

“So,” she heard Crowley say as she left the room. “What in the bloody hell are you thinking, not telling me about this? If you’re worried about something, I need to know about it.”

Anathema smiled, and Crowley rose a notch in her estimation.

\--

Ezra left the scrying call feeling worried. He’d managed to talk Crowley out of his irritation with him after making copious promises not to withhold important information from him. For any reason. Ever again. _Yes dear,_ Ezra repeated mentally. _I promise._ As always, Crowley’s bark was worse than his bite, and he calmed down rather quickly when properly managed.

What left him unsettled was the sense he got that all was not well in Crowley’s world. The prince hadn’t said a lot about the situation with Gabriel, but what he had said was disturbing. Phrases like “moving against me” and “gathering support” did not sit well with Ezra, especially since he was in exile and in no position to help. He wandered to the kitchen, thinking deeply about what this might mean and whether there were any possible way he could contribute.

Anathema showed up the next morning with a large carpetbag of materials and immediately pulled Ezra into helping her. They poured salt across each doorway, windowsill, fireplace, heating vents, and any other openings to the outside world, while Anathema performed some kind of ritual to seal them. Previous Ezra would have scoffed at this part, but having spent the last year gaining perspective on the reality of magic, he found himself in a much more cooperative headspace. She then proceeded to nail horseshoes over both the front and back doors of his home, turned on their side in a C-shape, and then added them on both the front and back garden gates as well. Then, oddly enough, she took the bird feeder off its post in the back yard and hung a large brass bell there, the kind you pull on a rope to clang.

“What is the purpose of that?” Ezra asked.

“Some Fae are sensitive to bell chimes,” Anathema said. “It couldn’t hurt.”

Ezra reached up and clanged it, once, and its low, sonorous note rang out across the garden. He cocked his head to the side and listened to the sound as it disappeared.

Finally, Anathema handed him several small cloth bags full of what felt like tea and smelled like moth repellent. He sniffed one and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “These are amulets,” she said, “with herbs and plants that are supposed to repel the fey. Put one above your bed, and keep one in your pocket or around your neck whenever you go out, ok?”

“All right,” Ezra said, digging for a thumbtack and then going into the bedroom to fasten one to the wall directly over his pillow. He could, he noted, always remove it whenever Crowley was in town. He tucked a second one into his jacket pocket, and put the last two in the bedside drawer for safe keeping.

\--

After concluding a perplexing conversation with Gabriel about the supposed pixie attack, Crowley brought Ligur and Beelzebub to the records room in his wing to discuss further. Hastur trailed along too, generally preferring to be wherever Ligur was at any given moment.

“How much support does he have?” Crowley asked the group, cursing the fact that he didn’t know this for himself. There was a time where word of trouble would never have reached him second hand. He had to admit that he’d allowed himself to become distracted. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about that now.

“It’s hard to tell,” Beelzebub said. “As with most things, the majority of folk here are either in your corner or fully neutral – they’re not likely to throw their support behind a coup until after it’s been successfully completed, and then they’ll just support whoever ends up in power. Say what you want about unseelie folks, but they don’t tend to be stupid.”

“Except the trolls,” Hastur said with a grin. “They’re dumb as rocks.”

Ligur laughed. “True, but they also don’t change loyalties often. They aren’t likely to be swayed by anything Gabriel is offering.”

“And prejudice against the Seelie runs fairly strong among most of the folk here,” Hastur added. “It’s going to be hard for him to build a large following.”

“Unless he makes you look weak,” Beelzebub added. “Which is what he’s trying to do.”

Crowley frowned. “He doesn’t need a large following. He needs exactly what he’s creating – a reason to get me out of the palace and out into the woods to investigate an attack that he almost certainly set up himself, and then assassinate me.”

“And if you don’t go, he uses it against you,” Beelzebub said. “Weakness.”

“Bring the redcaps,” Ligur said. “Those little buggers love to kill and won’t have any compulsion about doing so in your defense.”

“Knives for fingers and all that,” Hastur seconded, looking pleased at the thought of slaughter.

“Yes, yes,” Crowley said, “of course. But I can’t kill him unwitnessed. He’s gentry. It could lead to war.”

“War we would win!” Ligur said hotly.

“Easily,” Hastur added.

“Yes,” Crowley said, “we would probably win it. But we are in the midst of seasonal truce, which is a time-honored tradition and not lightly broken. Battles begin again at the spring festivals. If we fight now, we come into that season at a severe disadvantage.”

“We could… just torture him a little?” Hastur prompted, sounding hopeful.

Ligur grinned and leaned forward. “Oh, that could be fun! I’ve never tortured one of the gentry before.”

Crowley grinned. “Perhaps in time,” he said. “But first we need to dismantle this pixie camp trap before it goes much further.”

“How?” Beelzebub asked.

“I need to talk with my sister,” Crowley said. “Send a message, right away, by the swiftest means.”

\--

Ezra set up for scrying that night, gathered his intentions, and asked the basin to show him Crowley. Nothing happened. He frowned, straightened up, and took a few deep breaths to clear his head, and tried again. _Show me Crowley,_ he told the bowl, projecting his intentions as best he could. _Show him to me, wherever he is._

The bowl stayed determinedly blank.

Ezra felt a cold finger of dread run down his spine. Whatever this could mean, it wasn’t good.

He kept trying off and on for several hours, then gave up and attempted to sleep. Mostly, though, he stared at the wall until it was light enough to indicate that he could call Anathema and still be within the thinnest boundaries of polite and civilized behavior.

\--

Crowley received word within the hour that Griane would meet with him at the location of their previous parleys, a clearing deep in the hills along their borders. With no time to waste, the prince chose to transport himself there immediately, after carefully taking steps to shield his location from anyone in his court who might be interested to know where he was and what he was doing. Prying eyes would not be helpful at a time like this.

Griane was waiting for him on a bench by the side of a large, green pond. He quickly took in the fact that she had come alone with no guard, and his instinctively defensive posture relaxed somewhat.

“Brother,” she said, rising from the bench in a tinkle of bells and the fluid movements of her diaphanous sleeves. “It is good to see you again.”

“And you,” he said, trying to observe at least a little of the old courtesies. They exchanged pleasantries, wished each other health, and completed the hand-clasp signaling peaceful parley, then Crowley sank down onto one end of the stone bench and Griane joined him. She looked at him expectantly.

“Did you send Gabriel to me as a spy?” he asked bluntly.

Griane laughed, the sound musical. “Oh heavens,” she said, “Gabriel would make the worst spy in the realm, don’t you think? He’s so – obvious with his passions and distastes.”

Crowley grinned. “That he is,” he said, “but that might also be a brilliant way to cover for the fact that he is, in fact, spying on me. No one would suspect you of sending such a dolt.”

Griane frowned slightly. “Do not insult my courtiers, brother.”

“Is he still?” Crowley asked. “Your courtier?”

“I suppose not,” she admitted. “He did, in fact, break with my court when he left us. I did not send him.” She filled him in briefly on the tensions that began with Ezra’s visit and ultimately led to Gabriel’s dissatisfaction with her leadership.

“He’s dissatisfied with mine as well,” Crowley said grimly. “I believe he is moving against me, planning an assassination and takeover of my court.”

Griane gasped. “I know he’s ambitious, but I find it hard to believe that he would go so far as to kill a member of the ruling family.”

“I called you here because I may need to neutralize this threat,” Crowley said. He stubbornly met her eyes, daring her to object.

“ _Neutralizing_ a member of the gentry without causing a war is a delicate matter,” she said sharply, “and although he is not in my favor now, Gabriel served me faithfully for eons.”

“I am aware.”

“Any retribution against him cannot be unprovoked, and it cannot be based on suspicion alone. And furthermore, it must be witnessed by members of both our courts.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Crowley said darkly.

Griane waved a hand and produced a small golden broach, ring-shaped. “If you will put your trust in me,” she said, “this broach will let me observe you for the next forty-eight hours, and will block any other attempts to spy on you from other sources. You may remove it if something is occurring which I should not see – it will only observe events when you wear it visibly on your person. In a drawer, it does nothing.”

She handed it to him and watched him examine it closely.

He looked up and met her eyes, and a long moment of wordless communication passed between them – distant memories of when they were new together and young, so far back that they could hardly be recalled; millennia of familiarity broken by endless cycles of discord and reconciliation, and behind it all, a shared recognition that they were, at heart, two pieces of the same whole. He knew, in his bones, that he could trust her, if he chose.

He opened the clasp and placed it on his tunic, directly above his heart.

“Thank you, sister,” he said. “We will address this tonight.”

\--

Crowley apparated back to the castle and gathered his advisors.

“Summon Gabriel,” he said told Ligur, “and tell him we will ride out in two hours to examine the site of the attack. Only Gabriel may join us.”

Ligur nodded and went off to do so.

Crowley turned to Beelzebub. “Now,” he said, “let’s put a few more components in place.”

Beelzebub eyed their lord’s new broach, but wisely said nothing.

\--

Anathema made a good show of being already awake when Ezra called, but he could tell from her voice that she was not.

“Crowley didn’t answer my call last night,” he all but shouted at her, unable to maintain the boundaries of civility after his sleepless night. “Is it the warding? Is it blocking it?”

“You called me at – “ she paused to check – “six thirty in the morning _on a Saturday_ to tell me that your boyfriend didn’t answer the phone?”

Ezra made a frustrated sound. “No, it’s not that simple. It’s scrying. It should just work, right? He doesn’t have to answer, it should just show me him. Even if he were unconscious or asleep or wounded, correct?”

“Oh,” Anathema said, suddenly sounding more alert. “Well – I suppose in theory yes?”

“In theory??”

“Well,” she said, “clearly what I know about scrying is from spell books and I’ve never seen it used across worlds like this before. I don’t think the iron and salt should block it though, but I can’t promise that.”

“So what might cause it to fail?”

Anathema thought and he heard her taking a large sip of what was probably coffee. His friend had so far completely resisted the British addiction to tea, claiming only coffee could really wake her up.

“There are spells you can use to prevent yourself from being spied upon,” she finally said. “So it’s possible he could be using one of those.”

“Why would he do that?” Ezra said.

“Perhaps he’s in a sensitive situation where being scryed upon would compromise him?” she said. “Or maybe he’s somewhere that’s shielded somehow from spells of this nature.”

“That’s possible,” Ezra noted, sounding somewhat mollified. “I should try again. Thank you, my dear.”

“Let me know how things go,” she said before hanging up.

\--

Ezra tried ten more times, just to be sure. He even carried the bowl outside the back garden gate, to get outside the warding they’d set, with no improvement. Each time, the inky water stubbornly refused to show him anything.

He paced the cottage. Something had happened to Crowley. He was sure of it. The question was, what was he going to do about it?  
  



	17. Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an assassination is attempted, bad intentions come to light, and our heroes fight it out until the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence -- there are several big fight scenes in this chapter, with a variety of weapons. One character death (but you won't mind, I promise.) Nothing is too gory, but it will be tense!

Crowley met Ligur and the others out in front of the keep at the appointed time and found that Gabriel was waiting for him as requested, looking as smarmy and overdressed as ever.

“My Lord,” Gabriel said unctuously, sketching a hasty bow that managed to both perfectly imitate the form of a respectful greeting and yet somehow turn it on its head at the same time.

Crowley nodded in acknowledgment and noted that Ligur had set the horses up appropriately. He took a moment, before he mounted, to think of Ezra, and realized to his horror that he’d missed a scrying session and was now, through the use of the broach, cut off from reaching him. Ezra must be frantic, he thought. He considered for a moment running back inside to make a quick attempt at contacting him, but reluctantly put that thought away. There simply was no time for that now. He had a threat on his life to dispatch, and then he would visit Ezra and beg his forgiveness.

With that thought, he mounted the horse and led the group out in the direction Gabriel indicated.

_\--_

Ezra paced for nearly an hour before coming to a series of decisions about what he was going to do next. If he couldn’t reach Crowley, then Crowley probably needed help. If Crowley wasn’t able to come to him, he would simply have to go there. And there was only one way he knew of to do that.

But, he thought, he wasn’t completely insane. First he was going to arm himself, and then he was going for reinforcements.

He grabbed a messenger bag, stuffed the kitchen shears and a variety of iron garden trowels in it, along with all of the amulets Anathema had made for him – one of which he took the time to hang around his neck from a piece of twine – and then he made a quick call and headed out to start up his ancient Peugeot, which hardly ever got any use, and motored his way to Anathema’s as quickly as possible.

Unseen behind him, two shadows emerged from the copse of trees. They conferred briefly and then moved quickly to follow him as he headed down the road.

\--

Anathema was waiting on the pavement for him, holding a bag that was lumpy with an assortment of items he couldn’t identify.

“Is this a good idea?” she asked as she hopped in. “I mean really, have you thought it through?”

“It probably is not,” Ezra admitted. “However, Crowley is injured or dead or missing or fighting for his life, and I’m not going to sit here powerless while that happens. If I can get to him, I will.”

“Where are we going exactly?” she asked.

“To the tor,” he said. “As quickly as possible. Now please buckle up because I assure you I am about to break several laws.”

Anathema rolled her eyes. Ezra never went above the speed limit. But she did reach for her belt and was just fastening it when he slammed the gas pedal to the floor and took the road again with a spray of pebbles.

\--

It took them a half an hour’s hard ride to reach the location of the pixie camp. Crowley half expected to be ambushed along the way, or to ride into a swarm of recruited merceneries, but so far all of his expectations had come to naught. It was a perfectly ordinary trip in which everything seemed to be on the level.

He did not believe it for one second.

“Tell me what it was like when you found it,” he said to Gabriel as they entered the clearing the camp was located in.

“There were four of them – three dead, one badly wounded,” Gabriel said as they stood looking around. There was one large tent and a variety of leans tos made of sticks and moss. Most of the structures appeared to have been blasted apart by fire, and the tent was listing badly to one side with fire damage and holes in the roof and sides. “I found the bodies of three of them near the center fire. Things were burning.”

“And the one who survived?” Beelzebub asked.

“He was inside the tent, partly burned,” Gabriel said. “Said it was a goblin horde, attacked suddenly.”

“Why would goblins just randomly attack a party of pixies?” Crowley asked. “Did they tell you anything about what provoked it?”

“Perhaps to test out their capabilities? They may be planning something further, My Lord,” Gabriel said. “You know goblins. Always looking for a war. But like I said, the survivor didn’t last long.”

It didn’t make sense. The fey could be a belligerent bunch, hawkish and prone to conflict, but they didn’t often go out and perform raids within the borders of the two established courts. What prompted most of the folk to join one court or another was that it conferred protection from this very thing – the type of slash-and-burn kill parties that the unaffiliated fey spent their days inflicting on each other.

“And the bodies?” Ligur asked.

Gabriel shrugged. “Disappeared shortly after the last one died. Back to their clans, I suppose.”

Convenient but also not impossible, thought Crowley. Some of the lesser folk didn’t leave bodies behind once they were gone; there were creatures who disintegrated back into the earth and others who teleported to their sacred sites upon death. But still, it seemed awfully opportune that there was nothing left to examine.

They poked around the site for a few minutes, assessing the evidence. Whatever had happened had been violent, that was for certain. There were remnants of magical blasts both attacking and defensive, and many footprints and signs of struggle around the fire.

Ligur pulled Crowley aside. “Did you notice,” he said in a whisper, “that all the pixie-shot barbs are concentrated in a single area over to the west side of the circle?”

They walked over to assess it. Pixies often fought with small silver barbs known as elf-shot, that they could fire through blow-tubes. Wickedly sharp and often poisoned, they were designed to confuse and disorient an enemy, who might suddenly forget what they were doing and wander away, purpose unfulfilled.

As Ligur had noticed, a dozen or so of these barbs were embedded in the trunks of several trees in a single area, about six feet off the ground. Crowley took a moment to wander the edge of the circle looking for others and found nothing. It was as if the pixies had all been aiming for a single entity – an entity who was too tall to be a goblin.

“Lord Crowley,” Gabriel said, “there’s something in the dirt over here.”

Crowley and Ligur looked up. Gabriel was down on his knees in front of one of the tents, carefully brushing aside leaves and brush in front of the opening. Nothing appeared amiss.

“I’ll go,” Ligur said quietly, but Crowley shook his head.

“No, it’s all right,” he said. “Dig out a few of these barbs, carefully, and we’ll see if we can get any psychic residue off them later to reconstruct events. I’ll see what he wants to show me.”

Crowley walked over to him and squatted beside Gabriel. “What is it?”

“There,” Gabriel said. “There’s some kind of footprint here. Different from the others.”

Crowley knelt down and leaned in to take a closer look.

And that was when it happened. Just when he had let his guard down a little, decided perhaps nothing was going to happen today, Gabriel reached out and clamped a hand around his wrist, then met his startled gaze with a look of almost manic intensity.

Crowley had time to open his mouth and almost form a yell – and then, in a burst of blinding light, they both disappeared from the clearing.

\--

Ezra and Anathema reached the woods closest to the fairy hill in record time, with plenty of late afternoon light left for their purposes. Ezra threw the car into park with no concern at all for its wellbeing and hopped out with his bag in tow, motioning for Anathema to join him. He strode through the underbrush on the side of the road and began to make a beeline for the tor.

“Wait!” Anathema called, scurrying to catch up. “Come on, Ezra, you can’t just run off full speed without even telling me what the plan is, here. What are we trying to do?”

“ _We_ ,” Ezra said primly, “aren’t trying to do anything. You’re just here for backup. _I_ am going to recreate the way I entered the fae realms the last time and go find Crowley, and help him out of whatever problem he is in. _You_ are going to watch my back while I do so.”

“The heck I am!” Anathema said, putting on a burst of speed to put herself in front of him and block his way. “If you’re going through, so am I! I’m not going to leave you alone to wander in there and face whatever it is you’re facing! If you think I would do that you have obviously sustained brain damage somewhere along the way.”

Ezra huffed. “Anathema, you’re a dear to want to help, but it’s too dangerous. Now please, step aside.” He tried to get around her and she simply moved to block him again.

“If it’s dangerous, you might need my help,” she said. “I’m coming or we’re going back.”

They stared at each other for a long moment of mutual stubbornness.

“Fine,” he said, aware he simply didn’t have time for this argument, “you can come. Now keep up.”

They reached the clearing a few minutes later and took a moment to stare up at the hill in front of them. It wasn’t all that large – but somehow it felt like an incredibly imposing presence. Both of them reviewed memories of their rather traumatic last encounter here, and Ezra felt a chill break over him at the thought of what he was about to do.

“What did you bring?” Anathema asked.

“Oh!” Ezra said, squatting down and opening his bag. “The iron shears, a few trowels, a couple of smaller implements I thought might have been made mostly of iron. And some salt.”

He pulled all of this out, put a trowel in each of his jacket pockets and handed the shears to Anathema.

“I have a few other things,” she said. “I’ve been preparing for this, in case it came to a fight.”

Ezra looked up, interested.

“I’ve got a bunch of iron nails and look –” she said with a flourish, holding up something bulky in her hands.

“What is that?” Ezra said, peering. “A staple gun?”

“Shoots iron staples,” she said proudly. “Watch!” She turned, sighted it at a nearby tree with both hands, and squeezed the handle hard. A big, old fashioned iron staple went flying and sunk into the tree with a mighty thwack.

“Where did you get iron staples? Do they even make them anymore?”

She grinned. “They do not. But you know, the art department budget hasn’t been updated in like a thousand years, so most of my supplies are prehistoric. Sometimes it comes in handy to be totally underfunded.”

She tucked everything away and slung the bag across her shoulder, then looked up. “Should we, you know, get on with it then?”

“Yes, er, I suppose we should,” Ezra said.

They walked to the top of the tor, as he remembered from his previous visit, and then they carefully spiralled down it counter-clockwise, making three full rotations on the way down.

Nothing happened.

Ezra looked around him in confusion. “Are – are we still here? I couldn’t tell at first last time.”

“I’m pretty sure this is the same place,” Anathema said. “Smells the same.”

“Maybe it was the storm! Last time there was a storm!” He looked up frantically at the clear sky. No storm was in sight.

“It might be all the iron we’re carrying,” Anathema said quietly. “Do you think that might be keeping us out?”

Ezra sighed. “So we go in defenseless?”

Neither of them liked that idea, but they decided to give it a try. They divested their pockets and laid their bags down at the bottom of the hill and climbed up again, then after glancing nervously at each other, circled down again, staying close together.

Again, nothing changed.

“I don’t understand it!” Ezra shouted in frustration. “I’m here! Let me in!”

“You know it’s not like a revolving door,” came a silky voice from the shadows.

“They don’t just let you in because you come knocking,” said another voice from inside the treeline.

Anathema and Ezra, moving in unison, picked up their bags from where they’d discarded them and pulled a defensive weapon out of each. They stood side by side, the hill at their backs, and scanned the trees.

“Who is there?” Ezra said, voice more confident than he felt inside. “Come out and show yourself.”

There was a rustle and out of the trees stepped two creatures he had seen before – the Puskos twins, who he had met at the banquet long ago, when he was new to the Unseelie court. _Never trust them_ , he remembered Crowley saying. They had humanoid bodies, slim and lithe, and the heads of foxes, with bright orange and white fur, sharp pointed muzzles, and disturbingly glossy black eyes. They stepped forward, sniffing the air intently.

“Iron?” the first of the two said. He laughed. “You are intending to fight us?”

“Lord Gabriel will pay us handsomely when we bring him your head,” the second brother said. “You will not stop us with a trowel, human.”

“Are you the ones who have been watching me?” Ezra asked coldly.

“Why yes we are,” said the first one. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Boring work, though, really,” said the second creature. “You could at least do something _interesting_ once in a while.”

“Never you mind,” the first creature added. “We’re about to make up for that.”

Ezra stepped slightly in front of Anathema, and held the trowel up threateningly.

\--

Even before they landed at their destination, Crowley had begun the process of flinging himself away from Gabriel – so when they hit the ground the first thing he did was initiate a full body roll and come up in a defensive posture, reaching out to conjure power and unleash it on the being across from him.

No power came.

Crowley quickly took a look around to assess what was happening. They were on the top of some kind of mountain peak, in a flat bowl of hard rock surrounded by jagged edges. There was some kind of violet bubble around the edges of the clearing, a shimmering force field of energy that rose up above them into a high dome. He knew without attempting it that neither he nor anyone else could get through it. 

Gabriel stood on the other side of the clearing from him, looking smug.

“What are you playing at, Gabriel?” Crowley growled.

“Easy,” Gabriel said contemptuously. “I think you’ve held onto your court for long enough; you and your sister and your hereditary rule forever and ever. I’ve decided it’s time for some new blood to rule in the Dark Hall.”

“And you think that’s going to be _you_?” Crowley spat.

“I do!” Gabriel said. “Robbed of access to your magic, you’re not so powerful. I’m nearly as old and probably stronger than you physically, and I’m quite certain I can beat you in a fair fight.”

Gabriel moved slightly to the side and revealed the rock he’d been standing in front of, on which lay two thin swords, glittering dangerously and made of some kind of composite of crystal and silver. He picked one up and tossed the other to Crowley, who caught it easily and tested its weight appraisingly. He ran a finger along its edge, then shifted it to his dominant hand and stepped into a fighting stance.

“You might be strong, but there’s one thing you’ve forgotten,” Crowley hissed.

“And what’s that?”

“You’ve forgotten that you’re really not at all clever.” 

And with that, he lunged.

\--

Anathema found herself strangely fascinated by the two fox-headed creatures who were stepping out of the trees towards them. She knew she should be afraid; they clearly meant to harm them. But at the same time, this was her first look at beings who didn’t look completely human. Sure, had she had a choice, she perhaps wouldn’t have chosen two creatures who clearly meant to kill her and possibly eat her, but if there was one thing Anathema had learned over her years in the occult, it was that you did not always get a fair shake in these things.

She shook her head to clear it and resolutely pulled out her staple gun, holding it directly in front of her torso with both hands as if it might have the kickback of a rifle.

One of the foxes took a step forward, still scenting. “We don’t care about you, female,” he sneered to Anathema, flicking his black gaze to her before turning his eyes back to Ezra. “Run along home and leave the male to us.” 

“I will not,” she muttered. She lifted the staplegun, aimed carefully, and pulled the trigger before she could think better of it.

A large iron staple shot its way across the distance between them and embedded itself deep in one of the two creature’s shoulder. Not exactly what she had been aiming for, Anathema thought, but at least she didn’t miss entirely. She hadn’t had much practice, really, in aiming a staple gun. She took sight again and shot another one.

The second shot flew true as well, landing smack-dab in the middle of his forehead.

The creature roared in pain and staggered backwards, falling into his brother’s arms.

“Phabien!” the second creature cried. “What happened?” He looked up wildly as his brother thrashed in his arms.

“Get it out! Get it out get it out GET IT OUT!”

Ezra turned to shoot Anathema very impressed look while the second creature clawed at Phabien’s forehead, trying to remove the inch-wide staple from his head. Finally, in desperation, he leaned forward and used his long, sharp incisors to pull it out, and then spit it dramatically across the clearing, clawing at his tongue as if he’d been burned. His brother calmed a bit, but continued to dig at his arm, where the shoulder staple still sat.

\--

Lord Crowley and Gabriel were surprisingly well matched. While Gabriel was taller and had more muscle on him than Crowley, the prince had the advantage of being lighter and faster on his feet. Gabriel was also a predictable fighter, and Crowley took the first few moments of the fight to dance around the edges of Gabriel’s armspan, assessing his strengths and weakness. He used his speed to stay lightly out of reach and parried the man’s first few thrusts with ease.

What he learned was that Gabriel, while powerful, lacked imagination, and preferred to fight through the use of brute force, attacking aggressively but in foreseeable patterns. He didn’t seem to tire, which was worrisome, but his reactions were a tad slower than Crowley, and he lacked the ability to anticipate what Crowley was going to do next.

I can work with this, Crowley thought, as he began edging forwards to take Gabriel on more directly.

\--

Phabien’s brother pulled the second staple from his shoulder in a split second and turned towards Ezra and Anathema with a look of sheer murder in his eyes.

“Very well, humans,” he snarled. “You want to play? I’m game for a little mauling.”

“Finn,” his brother murmured, still listing helplessly against a tree. “Leave them. It’s not worth the pay, they have _iron_.”

“And we have teeth, and claws, and magic,” Finn cried. “We will not be bested by a pair of inexperienced mortals with garden tools.”

He prowled closer to them in a manner which reminded Ezra of the way in which a cat stalks its prey, ears held low to his head, teeth gleaming, a figure of coiled violence about to be sprung.

Ezra took a step back, being sure to keep Anathema behind him, just as the creature known as Finn sprung towards him with a growl.

\--

Crowley managed to knock Gabriel’s sword point away from him in a way that wrenched the man’s wrist rather badly. Gabriel swore under his breath and then recovered himself, holding his blade in front of him protectively while they circled each other. Crowley took a moment to wipe away the blood that was trickling into his eye from a glancing cut.

He leapt forward, using his speed to throw the larger man off balance, feinting and thrusting right and left in an unpredictable pattern, and using Gabriel’s penchant for brute force and huge, heavy slashing blow to keep him reeling. Despite his confidence, the larger man was beginning to fatigue. He looked down in shock at his left arm as Crowley landed a cutting slash which immediately began to bleed.

Gabriel growled and made an immense stabbing lunge at Crowley, putting the full force of his body behind it, and Crowley dove to the side to escape it, coming up into a low crouch. He watched as Gabriel carelessly exposed left flank as the sheer momentum of his previous move carried him forward and around to the right.

This was his moment, Crowley could tell. He’d never been closer to Gabriel or seen him more exposed; he managed to hook a foot around the larger man’s ankle and knock him off balance, sending him down to the ground on his back and ending up with his foot on Gabriel’s sword hand, pinning it to the ground, and the point of his own sword held tightly against the creature’s neck.

“You fight well,” Gabriel panted. “But you know you have no exit plan, here. You can’t kill me and keep your throne. By the law of the realm, killing a member of the gentry unprovoked is the same as renouncing your right to rule.”

“This is hardly unprovoked, you sanctimonious prick,” Crowley said pleasantly.

“Well good luck proving that in a court of Sidhe,” Gabriel said, a slight sheen of fear appearing in his eyes. “You have no witness. Let me up and we will go our separate ways.”

Crowley dug the point of the blade in harder, and was gratified to see a small bead of blood form and run down the side of Gabriel’s neck.

“Ah,” he said. “But I do have a witness.”

There was a spark of light in the clearing behind them and Crowley knew without turning around that his sister had appeared inside the circle. This was the moment, he thought, the defining moment for whether he and Griane could trust one another. The better part of him knew that he could, knew that Griane was here to help him, as they’d agreed. A less charitable part of his brain screeched out that his rival queen, who had so much to gain by his downfall, was standing behind him just as he was about to drive his sword through one of her longest-serving advisors; she could – she could run him through with a knife of her own, or hit him over the head with a rock, or really do just about anything she wanted because he was currently using all of his force and attention to hold Gabriel down and to resist the temptation to drive his sword directly into his jugular.

Griane stepped forward to stand beside him, and the moment of doubt passed.

“My Queen!” Gabriel said, sycophantic to the end. “Tell your brother that he has no right to claim my life.”

“Alas,” Griane said with a soft smile. “I have watched the whole fight. I know you began this fight in a treacherous attempt to seize the unseelie throne, that you furnished the weapons, and that you tricked my brother into entering this circle without his consent.”

Gabriel gaped at her. “So… so… you’re just going to let him kill me?”

Griane gazed peacefully at Crowley.

“I will leave what becomes of him from here up to your judgment,” Crowley said gruffly.

“Then leave him to me,” she said. “I will attend to his punishment.”

Crowley took a long, deep breath, swallowed some deep misgivings, and removed his sword from Gabriel’s throat, stepping back a few feet to allow him to rise. Gabriel cradled his right hand against his chest and clumsily made his way to his feet. He wiped his face with his good arm and turned to Griane, looking abject. 

“Remove this circle that binds our powers,” she said to him, and Gabriel said something under his breath. The shimmering purple circle disappeared, and Crowley felt his powers return to him in a rush.

Gabriel looked at Griane with what appeared to be genuine hurt in his eyes. “You would let him have me?” he asked. “You sided with him, over me?”

“You renounced me and my court,” Griane reminded him. “If he had killed you, it would not have been unjust.”

“If I had killed him, it would have been justice itself for his very existence!” Gabriel shouted. “Look at him! He’s not regal. He’s not noble, like you. He – he sullies himself with a human!”

Griane reached forward and laid a gentle hand against Gabriel’s cheek. Crowley could feel the power she eased into him through the touch, calming him. “My brother’s love is none of your concern, Gabriel. What have you allowed this hatred you hold towards the human to do to you?” She sighed. “You were great, once.”

Gabriel shook himself with a visible effort and stepped back. “No,” he said. “I will not go with you.”

Griane looked sad. “Then I will have to leave it up to Crowley what happens to you.”

Crowley stepped forward. “I claim the right of battle, to end him now,” he said grimly. “This man means endless harm to me and my kin.”

Gabriel looked back and forth between them, astonished, and stepped away. “No!” he shouted. “No, I will not allow this! I will not submit to either of you.” He backed away as both Crowley and Griane advanced towards him.

Griane reached for him one more time, then dropped her hand to her side.

“He is yours, Crowley,” she said.

Gabriel muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse, and a sudden thrum of power began to fill the air, cutting off all light and sound – and then, just as Crowley rushed for him with his sword, he disappeared entirely.

“Where did he go?” Crowley shouted. “Where is he?”

Griane frowned, searching. “He has left our realm all together.”

“Ezra!” Crowley yelled. “He’s gone to get Ezra!”

_\--_

As the second fox brother launched himself at them in a tangle of claws and teeth, Anathema used Ezra’s cover to attempt to shoot a fusillade of iron staples at him. At least two of them seemed to connect – one tangled uselessly in the fur of his scruff, and one buried itself in an ankle, which threw the fox off balance enough that he did not land directly on top of Ezra but instead launched into him from the side, knocking them both to the ground. Ezra did his best to bring the trowel he was holding down on the creature’s head, causing Finn to grab his wrist and strive to keep it away from himself as they scuffled on the ground.

The air was rent by a sudden thunderclap of sound; they both froze. They immediately looked toward the hill, where suddenly a new figure was standing, hands on hips, glaring at all of them.

“What is this?” boomed Gabriel. “I send my loyal servants to take apart one measly human for me and what do I find instead? One of you disabled and the other of you rolling around in the dirt like this is some kind of wrestling match?”

Finn let go and leapt to his feet, where he stumbled slightly. “My Lord Gabriel,” he said, shuffling backwards. “I was – I was in the process of overcoming them now, as you can clearly see.”

“Begone, you useless mongrel,” Gabriel said. He snapped and Finn flew back to land in a crumpled heap with his brother. He pulled himself upright and shook the grass and dirt off his clothing, but wisely stayed back in the treeline, observing.

“Gabriel, so nice to see you again.” Ezra said dryly. He looked Gabriel over and noted that he appeared to be wounded and bleeding from multiple cuts, and that his usual immaculate white and cream outfit had been traded for fancy dress blacks. “I see you’ve changed your look.”

“Oh, shut it, Ezra,” Gabriel said harshly. “Do you want to know how I got these cuts? I got them running your boyfriend through with a sword.”

Ezra felt an internal flash of panic, but he bit down on it and narrowed his eyes. “I highly doubt that,” he snapped. “It looks to me like you got the worst of whatever was going on.”

“Wouldn’t you like to think so?” Gabriel smirked, stepping towards him. “Would you like me to tell you what his whimpers sounded like as he died?”

Ezra’s control wavered and a moment of pain and doubt crossed his face.

“Stop it!” Anathema shouted, leveling the staple gun at Gabriel and stepping out from her position behind Ezra to stand firmly beside him. “Stop where you are and be quiet.”

Gabriel’s eyes flicked over to her with interest. “And what are you?” he asked. “Another mortal, but with a flicker of some magic to her. Are you a changeling?”

“I’m a witch,” she said defiantly. “What do you want here?”

Gabriel’s purple eyes latched onto her and his voice became musical. “You don’t want to fight me,” he said, enticingly. “This isn’t your battle. You should put down the weapon.”

“Don’t look at him,” Ezra warned. “It’s a glamour.”

Anathema wrenched her glance away and looked down, but it was partly too late – she already felt strange and swimmy, like her brain was full of fizz and her thoughts were muted. She frowned at the staple gun in her hand, trying to remember what it was for. She turned it around, running a finger over its edge and admiring how cold it felt to her touch. _Wake up_ , a part of her brain screamed. _What are you doing? Pay attention._

Gabriel waved a hand casually at Anathema and she backed away a few steps, continuing to look at the item in her hand in fascination and confusion.

“You’ll pay for that one,” Ezra spat, circling away from the hill to avoid being trapped between it and Gabriel. He led him closer to the trees. “You’ll pay for all of this, if what you say is true. If you killed Crowley, I will destroy you.”

Gabriel grinned, following Ezra. “Hard talk from a soft little mortal.” He reached behind himself and materialized a small silver dagger. “I’ll enjoy ripping you apart.”

He flicked a hand and suddenly Ezra found himself thrown back and pinned against a tree behind him, held by invisible force. The power expanded to wrench back both of his arms until they were wrapped back around the trunk, and he grunted in pain as the iron trowel he’d been brandishing fell uselessly from his grasp.

Gabriel stepped forward, his eyes glinting. “I’ve wanted to kill you for ages, Ezra,” he said conversationally. “Did you know that? Interfering mortal, never knowing your place. And now you’ve taken down and destroyed a king of the Fae. Such a shame no one took you to task before now.”

He flicked the knife across Ezra’s face, opening a small gash on his left cheek.

Ezra hissed and leaned his head back as far as he could, which wasn’t far given the circumstances. “Always knew _you_ were an irredeemable ass,” he gritted out. “Jealous of Crowley, weren’t you?”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows, and then he struck him, hard, across the opposite cheek. “You should be careful how you speak to your betters.”

Ezra blinked and waited for his vision to clear, then thought hard for a minute. Gabriel, as far as he knew, was a very powerful member of the upper levels of Fae society, but he was not infinitely powerful. He was currently splitting his focus between keeping Anathema mesmerized and physically pinning Ezra to the tree. How many simultaneous outflows of magic, he wondered, could the man maintain and for how long? What he needed now was something to distract him with.

As if in answer to a prayer, there was another large thunder crack and to Ezra’s immense relief, he saw the familiar figures of Crowley – his Crowley! alive! -- and Griane appear in the clearing.

Gabriel spun around and stood beside Ezra, keeping the point of his dagger pressed directly over Ezra’s chest. “Freeze, Crowley!” he shouted. “One step and I plunge this into his heart.”

Crowley glowered magnificently and raised a hand towards Gabriel in defense. “Step away from him, and we will negotiate the surrender of my kingdom,” he promised.

Gabriel laughed and pressed down on the dagger, causing Ezra to wince in pain. He raised a hand and used a surge of power to stop Crowley, who had taken an involuntary step forward.

“I mean it, Crowley,” he said. “One move from either of you and he dies.”

Gabriel’s attention was focused so entirely on Crowley that he didn’t notice when his control over Anathema slipped. Ezra noticed her shaking her head and returning to alertness, and their eyes met. Ezra gestured with his head over towards the treeline to their right, and to his immense relief, she sidled her way quietly out of sight and disappeared.

 _Stay out of sight,_ he thought fervently. _Please don’t get involved in this._

Crowley growled, never taking his eyes off Gabriel, and Griane laid a hand on his arm and stepped forward instead. “It’s beneath you to kill the human, Gabriel,” she intoned. “He has no powers, no weapons. Let him go and negotiate with us as befits a highborn Fae lord.”

Even Gabriel, in all of his panic, was not completely immune to the power of her emerald green eyes and soothing voice. His firmness wavered, just for a moment, and his voice when he spoke was unsure. “You already gave me over to your brother,” he said. “I cannot believe you mean to let me live.”

“Step away from the human and we will try to reach a new agreement,” she said. “Surely you would rather serve me, even in disgrace, than hide here in the mortal world for the rest of your very long life?”

Gabriel hesitated for a moment, and then, having come to a decision, he dropped his dagger hand to his side and took a hesitant step away from Ezra.

In that very second, all hell broke loose.

There was a loud shriek.

Ezra staggered forward a step as the power holding him against the tree suddenly ceased, and he looked over in confusion to find Gabriel on his knees, hands curled in the grass, with what appeared to be a large pair of iron kitchen shears sticking out of his back.

Behind him stood Anathema, shoulders heaving and a frantic look in her eyes.

Ezra rushed over to her and wrapped his arms around her.

“I stabbed him!” she shouted, half laughing in a frenzied way. “I – I -- I stabbed him in the back, Ezra, I stabbed him!”

He shushed her and pulled her tightly to him, shielding her gaze, and watched as Gabriel tried to stagger up to his feet one more time. Crowley was on him in two quick steps, taking the dagger from him and driving it directly into his heart. Gabriel gasped and let out one long moan before falling to the forest floor, where he lay unmoving.

Griane knelt down beside him and ran her hands light over him, just above his body. She seemed to be assessing something. Crowley watched her intently.

“He’s gone,” she said. “He has been paid for his transgressions.”

Crowley nodded grimly and then turned to the two injured fox-man hybrids, cowering under a tree a bit to their right. “And you two,” he said grimly. “You will not see daylight again.” He snapped viciously and they both disappeared. Into bottles? Ezra supposed. Perhaps into the lava chasm.

He didn’t know and honestly didn’t spare too much time to wonder, because a moment later, Crowley was upon him, wrapping his arms wordlessly around both him and Anathema, and burying his face in Ezra’s neck.

Ezra found himself sobbing in relief. They all stood in a huddled mass for a few minutes, and then finally, Ezra moved Anathema into just one of his arms and used the other to reach for Crowley, pulling his face up so that he could see him.

“My dear, dear boy,” he said, smiling through his tears at his love, who looked back at him in shock. “I missed you so.”

“Missed you too,” Crowley mumbled, still struggling to put two thoughts together.

“There’s something I need to tell you, right now,” Ezra said. “It’s very important that you listen to me.”

Crowley blinked and focused on Ezra’s gaze. “Go ahead,” he said, his voice thick.

Ezra leaned in and kissed him, gently, then pulled back.

“My name,” he said firmly and without the least hint of hesitation, “is Aziraphale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to follow up with a *very* short epilogue set a little while in the future for these two -- there are a few details still to tie up, and I want to know where they are six months from now. But otherwise this is, as promised, the end of the main story for this AU. 
> 
> Thank you so much for seeing me through this journey of writing my very first AU. Honestly, this is the most fun I've ever had writing a fanfic and your reactions and thoughts and cheers and groans at various points have been a large part of the reason why! I'm so grateful to have each of you reading my stories. :) 
> 
> Thank you especially to Zeck for beta-ing each and every chapter and helping me figure out several tricky plot points and encouraging me to keep going through sickness and quarantine and through the two chapters that nearly killed me. (Every story has at least one of those.) Writers. We are so dramatic, aren't we? 
> 
> Also: we have fan art, from the talented akinmytua2! See it here: <https://ineffably-good.tumblr.com/post/615595061150924800/amazing-art-from-akinmytua2-this-is-their>. Thank you so much for drawing something that only previously lived in my brain! I am so knocked over with admiration for visual artists. Wish I had the skill but I do not.


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last look at our boys, six months later.

**Six months later**

Ezra gave a contented sigh and straightened the papers on his desk as the bell rang on his final class of the term. His students wasted no time in leaping up from their chairs in a disorganized clatter, throwing their things into packs, and racing for the door. All, that is, except for one.

“So where are you _really_ going, Professor Fell?” a voice said from in front of his desk, causing Ezra to startle and look up. Adam. Of course. A year older now, but still as precocious and challenging as ever.

Ezra gave him a fond smile. “I don’t know quite what that question even means, my dear boy. I’m going travelling, as I mentioned. Abroad.”

Adam narrowed his eyes. “Okay,” he said, “another question then. Where were you really when you disappeared?”

Ezra stared at him, bemused.

“You were under the hill, weren’t you?” Adam said, pressing on. “I was there, I know you didn’t just get kidnapped or knocked on the head.”

Ezra thought he better nip this one right in the bud. “Oh of _course_ ,” he said exaggeratedly. “I was stolen away by flower fairies with their tiny little wings and taken to their queen and spent the whole nine months sipping nectar from a bluebell.” He smiled, not unkindly. “Clever of you to have figured it out.”

Adam stared back, unimpressed, but finally cracked a grin. “See you in six months then,” he finally said. “Enjoy your ‘travels’.”

\--

Ezra took care of a few final details and made sure that his office was in order before carefully locking his office door and heading home on his bicycle to pack his things. Crowley was due at midnight and they would be heading back to the Dark Hall together shortly thereafter. This time, though, he had the advantage of knowing that he was going to be away for some time, and of bringing some things along.

And if there was one thing Ezra Fell loved, it was packing for a trip.

He didn’t bother too much with clothing, although he did pack a much beloved dressing gown and his favorite slippers, as well as a warm jumper or two. The unseelie court, for being located close to a lava chasm, could be surprisingly cold. Otherwise, he planned to wear mostly court clothes while he was there, as he felt it helped him fit in better. And if his court clothes were emblazoned with Crowley’s snake emblem, all the better to make it clear to everyone exactly where his loyalties lay.

What occupied more of his time was choosing which books and notebooks to take. He put the small valise with his clothing and toiletries aside and took out a much larger case to fill with these items. There were a few stories he very much wanted to read to Crowley – he tucked those in first. Then he added an encyclopedia of horror and a book of photo stills from famous monster movies that he’d picked up for Ligur and Hastur. And then, he filled every remaining space with the notebooks, fountain pens, novels, and reference works he thought he might possibly want over the next six months.

When it came to books, he thought, one could simply never overpack.

\--

About an hour later, a knock on the door told him that Anathema had arrived. He ushered her in with a warm hug and settled her on the couch for a cup of tea before he got to work preparing them both dinner.

“So,” she said, taking a sip. “Still doing it, then? Still off to spend half a year under a hill with your prince?”

The words were quarrelsome, but her tone was not. He met her eyes and she smiled at him.

“Of course I am, my dear,” Ezra said. “I don’t think I could wait one minute longer if I had to. And don’t go pretending that you don’t adore Crowley yourself. You two have gotten entirely too close for my liking in the last six months.”

“He’s all right,” she said, hiding a grin. “Little bit high strung, if you ask me.”

“Oh stop,” Ezra reproved. “I’ve seen you two ganging up on me and egging each other on. You’re every bit as dramatic as he is. Perhaps that’s the problem, then, is it?”

She threw a couch pillow at him, and he laughed and went off to put the finishing touches on the shepherd’s pie he’d put together the day before and pop it in the oven.

Anathema had started coming by a lot more often after the events of last fall. Ezra was truly the only one she could talk with about the trauma of having witnessed and participated in such a pitched battle, and it took quite some time to work through it with her to the point where she stopped recriminating with herself over the violent act she’d performed. And of course, she’d popped round now and then to during Crowley’s visits, or met them at the village pub for a few drinks. They’d become much closer with all they’d been through, and he had to admit he would miss her.

Ezra let his mind wander back to the day Gabriel was killed and all that happened after. Lady Griane had quietly sent the body of Gabriel back home and seen to everyone’s wounds, and then she asked Anathema, who was still in shock, to walk with her for a while in the woods. Crowley had assured Ezra that Anathema was in no danger with his sister, and as they walked away he could see that Griane was speaking gently and appeared to be attempting to reassure her. When they returned some twenty minute later, Anathema was visibly calmer.

“What did she say to you, that day?” he asked her as they ate. “You never really told me.”

Anathema chewed thoughtfully for a moment and didn’t bother to ask who “she” was. They both knew what Ezra was referring to.

“She told me that the Fae bear me no enmity for my role in Gabriel’s death, and that I didn’t need to fear any form of reprisal,” she said quietly. “And we talked about magic and witchcraft, quite a bit.”

Ezra nodded. “I’m relieved to hear it,” he said, although he’d immediately addressed the same with Crowley after the events at the tor and received the same assurances for her ongoing safety. The official credit for Gabriel’s death went to Crowley, as he had dealt the killing blow. Only Crowley, Griane, and Ezra knew that Anathema’s wound alone would have proven fatal to Gabriel, although more slowly. That much iron inserted that close to a fae’s heart was always deadly, a form of slow poisoning that would have resulted in a long and painful death. Crowley’s act, from a certain perspective, could almost be seen as a mercy killing, sparing him days of agony.

Anathema looked at him as if she was considering revealing something. He sipped his wine and blinked back neutrally, not willing to intrude on her privacy uninvited. After a moment, she seemed to come to a decision.

“And she gave me something.” She reached into her pocket and put a small velvet bag on the table, which she opened and shook out. A small gold oak leaf tumbled out, intricately worked and with tiny pearls embedded in it. It glinted in something more than the reflected light of the lamps around them, clearly imbued with a magic of its own.

Ezra leaned in and looked. “It’s lovely,” he said. “What is it?”

“I believe it’s something of a passport,” Anathema said. “She said it would grant me entry from the tor and safe passage to her court if I ever wanted to … come through.”

“So you could visit?” he exclaimed. “Anathema – that’s amazing! You should come, sometime! We could come retrieve you from Griane’s courts and you could stay with us in the dark hall, and… and…”

He stopped, noticing her hesitation.

She smiled at him. “I will at some point. I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet, though.”

He reigned himself back in with visible effort. “Of course, my dear. Whenever you’re prepared. Just let me know.”

“Oh,” she said. “And I’ve got something for you, before you go.”

Ezra grinned. “Presents? Oh, how lovely.”

She reached into another pocket – where on earth did the woman hide so many pockets, Ezra paused to think – and brought out a small white box.

He frowned at it suspiciously. “This isn’t what I think it is, is it?”

She nodded. “It’s a phone.”

“You know I don’t believe in mobiles,” he chided.

“I’m aware of that.”

“And you know there will be absolutely no service where I’m going, so what is the point?”

She sighed. “Ezra, you boyfriend is a magical being of almost unlimited power. I’m sure he can find a way to jigger it to make it work so that you and I can communicate.”

Ezra sputtered. “Well yes, that sounds lovely, but…”

“No buts,” she said. “If you’re going to spend half of every year living in another reality, I want to be able to text you. I’ve already programmed my number in and sent an initial text to it, so you don’t have to figure anything out. It will be easy.” 

“All right,” he said, giving in. “It would be nice to stay in touch. Now why don’t you show me how to turn this infernal machine on?”

It took an hour to get him to the point where he could both read and send a text message, but it was time well spent, in Anathema’s opinion. She didn’t intend to lose touch with him again.

\--

There was a knock at the door at midnight, and Ezra opened it with his heart in his throat.

Crowley stood there, in all his resplendent glory, and beamed back at him.

“Ready, angel?” he said, holding out a gloved hand.

“Ready,” Ezra said, and took it. 

\--

“I expanded a little,” Crowley said, showing Ezra around his apartments. 

“You did?”

“Moved your room closer and connected it to mine,” Crowley said. “Thought you still might want to have your own private space, but I wanted it to be within the defensive perimeter of my apartments.” He led Ezra to a new door that had appeared off the main living area. Ezra opened it and walked through and found his old quarters, much as he had left them, except with a profusion of books that had been added in his absence.

Ezra gasped delightedly. “You’ve been collecting!”

Crowley grinned. “Set all my best thieves on it.”

“You mean to tell me all of these books are _stolen_?”

“No, no,” Crowley said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had them pay for them in kind. Left, you know, fairy gold. And not the kind that turns to leaves the next day. Blessings. You know. Good stuff.”

Ezra raised an eyebrow but was too happy to squabble. He turned and wrapped his arms around the prince. “Thank you, my dear. I don’t think we’ll need the bed in here, though. I plan to sleep in yours.”

Crowley leaned down to kiss him.

A few moments later they came up for air and Ezra smiled up at him. “Well, perhaps we could make use of it one more time.”

“For old time’s sake?” Crowley murmured, walking him backwards towards the bed.

“Something like that.”

\--

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed, kissing his neck some time later as they lazed beneath the covers. “Aziraphale.” More kisses. “Aziraphale.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ezra said, swatting him lightly. “It’s not what I’m called anymore.”

“I won’t,” Crowley said. “I just wanted to see what it felt like, saying it.”

“You know,” Ezra said, “you have a name too, correct?”

Crowley blinked at him. “Everyone has a name.”

“I mean, names have power over you as well, yes?”

“Yes of course, the power of command to any who know my full name – within reason, of course. You couldn’t make me kill myself, or harm you. There are limits, for someone as powerful as me.”

Ezra blinked at him expectantly with a ridiculously hopeful expression on his face, and Crowley felt his insides clench with fondness.

“Ezra,” Crowley said, “you couldn’t possibly have more power over me than you already do.”

Ezra nuzzled happily. “Well then it doesn’t matter,” he said. “I trust you with my name, you can trust me with yours. Let’s be equals in this, love.”

Crowley considered for a moment, then leaned down and whispered something in Ezra’s ear.

Ezra chortled.

“Hey!” Crowley protested. “Stop _laughing_. That’s just not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” Ezra said. “It’s just not at all what I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

Ezra wiped his eyes. “I mean… Anthony? It’s not exactly … regal, is it?”

Crowley frowned at him. “You just got here and already we’re going to have an argument?”

“No, no,” Ezra said, dropping his amusement all together. “It’s a lovely name, very popular in certain parts of my world. Thank you for telling me, my dear.”

Crowley muttered a bit, but allowed himself to be mollified. “Do not call me that, by the way. No one can know about my full name.”

“I promise,” Ezra said. “Only when we’re alone and you’ve made me very cross.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley warned.

“Anthony,” Ezra warned back.

Crowley sighed, but a corner of his mouth quirked up in spite of himself. “Oh, this is going to be fun.” 

\--

“Remember the seer?” Ezra said as they sipped wine by the fire later that night. “At the first banquet? What was her name again?”

“Clodagh.”

“Was it true,” he asked, “what she said?”

Crowley frowned at him. “What did she say, again?”

“That I was a herald of unwelcome change,” Ezra said.

There was a long moment of silence as Crowley thought this through. “That’s a complicated answer,” he finally said, meeting Ezra’s gaze.

Ezra looked at him calmly. “Tell me.”

“You definitely brought change,” Crowley said, “to the court, for a start. Threw the Unseelie for a loop to see me enamored of a human; to some that meant weakness and a chance to overthrow me. That has mostly been laid to rest since I got the credit for killing one of the Gentry without repercussions. And I made a thorough and rather terrifying, if I do say so myself, sweep of the court just after that to find out who supported him. Haven’t had any real trouble since.”

Ezra nodded. “Well that’s a relief.”

“You certainly changed Hastur and Ligur,” Crowley added. “They have never really had a human friend before. Quite annoying, those two. I’m surprised they’re not here already.”

Ezra beamed. “Oh good! I brought them gifts!”

Crowley frowned. “That is _not_ helping.”

“And on a personal level?” Ezra said.

Crowley looked at him. “On a personal level, the amount of change you brought was completely terrifying and one hundred percent unwelcome, at the beginning, and you know it.” He put down his glass and made a gesture in front of himself, conjuring a small ball of golden flame. It matched his eyes, Ezra thought, momentarily distracted.

“It’s like this flame is me,” Crowley said. He ran his hands around it, forming it into a perfect circle. “For thousands of years. Self-sufficient. Self-contained. In control.” He made another gesture, and the circle split into two parts. “And then you walk in and carve out this huge part of me and just – just – take it.”

He moved his hand again, and one of the two balls of flame bobbed over to Ezra, and hovered in front of him. Ezra reached out a hand and carefully scooped it up, holding it gently.

“I didn’t take it,” he said quietly, “you gave it to me. And I’m honored. I’ll take the best care of it I know how.”

The little ball rose up out of his hand, moved closer to him, and disappeared into his chest, just over his heart. Ezra felt a warm rush of love move through him. He looked up and found Crowley watching him closely.

Crowley lifted an arm in invitation and Ezra scooted over to fit himself beneath it, resting with his head on the prince’s chest. The twists and turns of his life in the last year and almost defied belief, he thought. It was crazy that he’d gone from his small, tidy, mostly solitary existence in a remote village in England to being the consort of a Faery king, splitting his time between two very real and very different worlds, moving back and forth with ease. And yet, here he was, happy as a clam in his complicated, bifurcated life.

“You did change me,” Crowley said. “And I wouldn’t take it back for anything.”

“We changed each other,” Ezra corrected gently. “And neither would I.” 

\--

Around them, the Dark Court slowly roiled with new conversations. Behind pillars, inside caves, in dark and dismal corners, the members of the court whispered to each other. The Prince’s consort – for clearly that’s what he was now – had returned. Good, everyone whispered, because the Prince tended to be especially murderous when that human was not around, so everyone felt a little safer with his return. And the human was good for some serious entertainment, with his penchant for getting into scrapes and fighting off creatures twice his size and arguing – arguing! how did he dare? – with the prince at inopportune moments. They formed theories, shared notes, and settled in for a long season of mischief and intrigue.

All was as it should be, they all agreed, and life in the Dark Court swirled on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... that is the end! Thank you so much for going on this journey with me. :) I love my readers! 
> 
> I have the faintest hint of an idea for part two in this AU floating around in my brain, but it will likely be a while before I write it. Perhaps this summer. Please subscribe to the series if you haven't, because I think I will probably be back to explore that idea at some point! And if you haven't read my other series, there's plenty over there to entertain yourself with in the meantime, and I've signed up to write a story about a bank robbery for an event on tumblr in the next few weeks, so look for that coming out soon.


	19. Author’s note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to let those of you who subscribed to part one instead of the series page that the first two chapters of part two posted today! Click over from the link at the top to start reading part two!

Just a quick note to let those of you who subscribed to part one instead of the series page that the first two chapters of part two posted today! Click over from the link at the top to start reading part two!


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